


Something Else

by NordicTwin



Series: The Elsewise Chronicles [1]
Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: Domesticity, Eventual Romance, Fae & Fairies, Fae Courtships, Fae/Human heritage, Family Secrets, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Growing Up, Gunnerkrigg Court (referenced), Implied past fae/human relationships, Labyrinth References, Lesbian Character, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Selkies, Swan Maidens, figure skating, good parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23259115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NordicTwin/pseuds/NordicTwin
Summary: She is born but seconds after her brother, much quicker than should perhaps be possible. Small and frail, with skin that shimmers like dew in the night, and eyes the colour of a pale dawn sky that See more than they should, and a mind that remembers much quicker.Her Dad is Human, her Mother is Other, her Brother is Something, and she is Else. As twins they are Something Else, but while a Something can belong Anywhere, an Else can live nowhere but Elsewhere. She knows it well - she's tried for 18 years. So what else can she do but answer the call when the opportunity arises?The question is now, is she Human enough to remain Above, or will she find herself falling into waiting arms Underhill?
Relationships: OC/OC, Raye/Lord Foxglove
Series: The Elsewise Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018273
Comments: 102
Kudos: 67





	1. Sister and Brother, born of Other

**Author's Note:**

> I have always loved the Elsewhere University comic, because I'm a sucker for dark and unsettling magic and tales, but only recently did I realize that there was more than just the one comic. I am wiser now and gladly jump face-first into the world of Elsewhere.
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

She is born but seconds after her brother, much quicker than should perhaps be possible. Small and frail, with skin that shimmers like dew in the night, and eyes the colour of a pale dawn sky that See more than they should, and a mind that remembers much quicker.

Her brother is born first, bigger than his sister, but with limbs that already seem lanky and eyes that are more steel than they are anything else - she never learns if he, too, can See like she can, but she has a feeling he does, but she never asks. His skin has its own shimmer to it, but less like dewdrops and more like sunshine hitting a shiny surface.

Mother calls them her beautiful little Sprites and Dad calls them his Impossible Children.

Neither statement is any less true than the other, even if one parent is as Human as they come and the other is decidedly Other.

Neither her nor her brother are Human or Other, though. Oh no. They are Something Else. And out of the two of them, she is the most Something Else, and she knows it well. 

She knows it in the way the other children have a harder time speaking with her than her brother, getting caught up in her words and not understanding her, and she gets stuck looking for hidden traps without meaning to. (She’s just shy, it’s natural in the young ones). 

She knows it in the way she feels uneasy around the river that runs through their town, though she can cross it. (She’s just a little cautious around water, nothing wrong with that). (She doesn’t fear the pool or the lake, with their still waters). (But she never gets all that good at swimming). Her brother has no such worries, though he’s unhappy about water in general.

She knows it in the way she often Sees things out of the corner of her eye, and the other children don’t make fun of her for having imaginary friends or telling stories. Only her brother and Mother and Dad takes it seriously. (Children and their vivid imaginations).

She knows it in the way she covets shiny stones and minerals and crystals like they are precious treasures, knows it in the way she can eat them like they are candies instead of definitely not candies. (Nobody says anything about it, because that’s the one thing she never lets them know until she is much older and in much deeper than she ever thought she’d be).

Her brother once tried to eat one of her rocks, when she had offered it to share. He lost that pesky loose tooth, that day, but hadn’t been able to eat it. Likewise, she lost a loose tooth of her own when he’d offered her a copper nut (his favorite) in return.

Dad had sighed oh so heavily that day and called them Something Else, just like their Mother, and he had hugged them and called them by their Names.

They have Names, of course, that suit what they are - their daughter with the morning sky in her eyes, and their son with steel in his soul. Mother and Dad had given them to them at birth, but over time they also give them plenty of names that are just as important. Mother is fond of reminding them of this when she visits from wherever she goes.

“Names are important, but so are names, my Sprites,” she tells them. “Never give it away, and never forget it,” and then she often pauses, looking up at the rising sun, dark hair shining teal. “Never give anything away, unless you’re absolutely certain it’s worth it. Never accept anything either, unless you’re certain it’s worth it - They might be your kin, but you are not Theirs”.

And the following question from either her brother or herself is always: “What are you, then, Mother?”

And her reply will always and ever be: “I am no one's but my own, except maybe your father’s, but even then I belong more to myself more than him, and even more than that I belong to Old Callings passed down through generations, because I am Other and that means I don’t truly belong Anywhere, be it Here or Elsewhere”.

“Where do we belong then?”

Their Mother smiles sadly and the light of the setting sun turns her dark hair a burning crimson and stains white fingers pink as she runs her hands through their hair. “One could belong Elsewhere, one could belong Anywhere - I’m afraid it all depends on how much you take after Dad and how much after me”.

Her brother clutches her hand and she twists around his arm, more tightly than she probably should - then again, the grip on her hand is stronger than it should for a boy of just four human years.

She thinks she knows that Mother knows which of them belongs Anywhere and which of them belongs Elsewhere, and she thinks her brother thinks he knows too, and that Mother knows what they think.

But for now they are small and their quirks are still easily excused and explained with such human concepts and words, so it doesn’t matter in the end.

* * *

They live with Dad. Mother lives Somewhere Else. It always changes and shifts, but her visits are as frequent as they can be for someone with a different understanding of time. (They can, however, without fail expect her to show for their birthday on the Autumn Equinox and when the moon is gone for a week.)

Dad loves her regardless - with his whole heart, he loves his wife who is Other and his children who are Something Else - and does his best to accommodate their needs. Does his best to teach them Human Things, while Mother teaches them Other Things whenever she is with them. Does his best to teach them about all the culture that belongs to the parts of them that are Human - of Youkai and technology and brave warriors - while Mother spins grand tales of the Elsewhere and all that exists within it.

They are valuable lessons, as becomes more apparent as the years pass and they grow.

They are twins, but even people who know them to be such come to have a hard time understanding it.

She is small, as she has been since birth. Just like Mother. Her skin still shimmers like dew, but it changes with the seasons more and more as she grows. Spring and Summer see her glow with pale gold and lingering birdsong, while Autumn and Winter gives her the faint shimmer of frost and whispered secrets under starlight. Her eyes still hold the dawn, but more often than not she starts wondering if it isn’t actually dusk within them, framed as they are by hair as black as True Midnight that grows ever longer, never cut. Her skin breaks and bruises oh so easily, for all that she feasts on precious stones whenever she can, but she learns how to move with grace and care so that it happens less and less, her every movement careful and deliberate always. 

She discovers gymnastics and dancing and floats like a butterfly, but she finds her true home in figure skating. Dancing on still water turned to a pristine mirror of ice, she ties blades to her feet and _flies_ , feeling freer than ever.

She gets better at interacting with the other children, though she’s more careful with her words than them. She finds that she doesn’t like words the more she grows, if she is honest with herself. She sees no reason to speak just for the sake of speaking, and there are times where some wonder if she even knows how to speak at all with how little the teachers call on her.

It’s all well and good, she supposes, that she doesn’t care too much for her voice either way. It’s at once all too Human and Not Human Enough, depending on those who listen. She prefers how it sounds when she sings, for how it sounds like Something Else, but she dislikes singing in public.

She struggles with the sciences and flourishes with anything creative. She likes math for the patterns, but not enough to wish to incorporate it into everything like the Humans seem to want to do. She never gets the hang of swimming.

Her brother, on the other hand, grows tall and strong like their Dad. He is forever thin and lanky, but the supposed fragility hides that his bones and muscles are as tough and stable as the metals he enjoys snacking on. The shine in his skin fades with time, but it just moves to his eyes instead, giving him a constantly intense and fierce look that would get him more in trouble, were it not for the fact that he is sociable in a way that she is not. That his hair is coarse and long and more like fur than anything seen on a human usually goes ignored.

Their Human peers like him, and he likes them back. He speaks without worrying (too much) about hidden traps that aren’t there 7 times out of 9, and he plays their game effortlessly. His skin never breaks or bruises - all iron hidden by soft suede that it is - and the Humans chalk it up to luck every time. His voice grows deeper with time and is Just Human Enough that nobody questions it. He learns to swim, though it takes a long time and a lot of effort.

He takes to the sciences like a mermaid to water, a skill inherited from their Dad. He likes numbers and formulas even more than her, and he tells her over and over again of how he’s going to be an engineer and inventor someday.

People in their neighborhood tell Dad that his son “sure is something”, and Dad laughs and agrees that he certainly is “Something”.

They never hear the difference, but she and her brother does.

He is - will be - always has been - Something, while she is Else.

Their Mother and Dad love them both regardless of which one they take the most after, and they love each other, acting as a balance whenever the other falters, for they are Something Else, and they have been as such since their birth.

Unfortunately, like so many things that are all too Human, there comes the day where this usual balance is forced to change.

* * *

She wishes it could be different. Many times, as the years could pass. That she and her brother could both be Something and not a Something and an Else. That they had taken after Mother and Dad equally.

Alas, she took after Mother the most and is thus Else. Not Other, she could never be Other the way Mother is - for all that she is Not Human, there is too much Human in her to be Other like that. She’s not sure why that makes her Else, though, if They are Else as well.

It doesn’t mean she doesn’t try to be Human, though. For almost 18 years she tries her hardest to be Human, even without her brother by her side. Tries to act like them, engage with them, learn like them.

The more she tries the more she suffers, and it’s with a painful mix of relief and grief that she drinks tea with Mother in the Witching Hour by candlelight, made from plants that don’t exist Here and that no Human voice could ever hope to Name (she’s not sure it’s entirely safe for Human consumption, that it isn’t Fae food for how it is so much better than anything Dad has ever prepared, or if it’s just Mother’s touch), and looks at the brochure for Elsewhere University.

“It is where you Dad and I got Involved,” Mother tells her in a whisper. They are in no danger of waking Dad and her brother, but the Witching Hour has always been a time for whispers. “It is one of few places Above that crosses with Underhill and allows for… somewhat peaceful cohabitation between the Gentry and Humans”.

“But I am not Human,” she whispers back, clutching her mug tightly. “Nor am I Gentry”.

“No, my Sprite, you’re not,” her Mother agrees, her hair shining silver in the faint light and her eyes like pools of mercury. “You are Else, and I am Other, and sometimes I really wish it wasn’t like this… but I wanted him too much, and I wanted you and your brother too much to let you go”.

It is probably the most like Them that she has ever experienced her Mother, but she finds in her heart that she can’t blame her.

Alabaster arms reach out and envelop her tightly, stroking hair that has never been cut and shimmers in the light of beginning dawn. “I fell in love with a Human, my Sprite, like my mother before me, and her mother and grandmother before her. And like them, I too loved that Human too much to break him and take him with me, and I could not let my children grow up Underhill, even if it meant leaving behind the place I had just come to call Home and to forever roam Anywhere”.

It sounds like her Mother is confessing to a grave sin. Perhaps, in her perspective, it is. But to her who has lived amongst Humans all of her life and has tried for the sake of her family to live like them, it sounds like a declaration of love so strong that not even the power of Elsewhere could keep her.

She hugs her Mother back, but refuses to cry.

The papers are filled out and the application for her admission sent by the time True Dawn light up the sky in colours she usually only sees in the mirror.

* * *

Telling her brother of her decision is one of the hardest things she’s ever done, and she puts it off until the acceptance letter arrives and she can no longer hide it in good conscience.

She enters his workshop and throws the thick packet on the table where he’s busy working with wires and plastic and metal - so much metal.

He pauses for a moment and quickly picks it up, looking through the first few pages with a speed that shouldn’t be possible for a human. Then he looks up.

“No”.

She sighs and slumps to the ground, not caring that she’ll get her shorts and shirt dirty. “Yes”.

His hands shake as he looks through it all, what remains of the shine in his skin disappearing with the stress. “No… Sister, I… I can’t-”

“You won’t,” she cuts him off, already knowing what he would say.

It’s not like it’s going to matter either way.

“You are Something, and thus you can belong Anywhere and make it your Somewhere, but you don’t belong Elsewhere. I, who am Else, on the other hand, can only truly belong Elsewhere”.

Her brother falls to his knees and onto the concrete of the floor with a loud thud, papers still clutched tightly in his hand. “No- no, we can make this work. They have an engineering course, do they not? I could-”

She lets out a dry huff of a laugh that isn’t really a laugh, the most Human sound she can make without having to focus. “What good would it do you, Brother? You would suffocate in a place like that, much quicker than what Here is doing to me. I’d never ask that of you”.

She closes her eyes when his shoulders start shaking. “I never asked it of you, either”.

“And isn’t that just wonderful?” She whispers, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I loved you and Dad and Mother enough to stay Here for 18 years, tried to play at being Something. And now I love you so much that I am willing to hurt us now, so that I won’t hurt you even more later on”.

 _“Because I would have died”_ goes unsaid.

There’s shuffling, then a heavy weight leaning against her smalls shoulder.

“Don’t go,” he begs, clinging to her hand. “It’s so much easier to be Something when you’re by my side. It’s so much easier to pretend that I am just like them, when I am trying to make them think you are like them too”.

_“Don’t go where I can’t follow”._

She allows herself to cling back and cry and call him by his Name, because she will miss him and he will miss her, and they have been together all of their lives and goodbyes are painful, even if it’s not goodbye.

_But it is, in so many ways. She just doesn’t know it yet._

* * *

She is packed up and on her way within the week.

Her brother and Dad take her to the train station that will take her Elsewhere, where Mother made a Vow to greet her. Brother helps her bring her luggage onboard - everything she owns, stuffed into two suitcases, though they weigh not much more than her, and she weighs so very little.

She hugs them close, lets Dad kiss her cheeks and forehead and cry on her, and permits Brother to lift her up and up and up and swing her around.

She steps onto the train and waves from the window.

“I love you!” She calls.

The train departs. She looks away and doesn’t turn around again. Plugs in her headphones and looks away from the window for the entire trip. At some point the carriage around her turns from sleek lines and metal and cheap seats covered in velvet to varnished wood and leather that smells like dust and age.

Mother meets her when she gets off, the whistle of the steam train drowning out any spoken greeting between them. Instead she places a gentle hand on her arm and guides her on cobblestoned roads into the Elsewhere. Her suitcases rattle and jump as she drags them behind her.

She breathes deeply, and for the first time in all of her life, it doesn’t feel heavy.

She is home.


	2. Of Selkies, Swans, and Skates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " She takes the girl’s hand and gives it a firm shake - once, twice, thrice - and lets her response be a question that she’s sure will be understood, if she’s read the other correctly. “Would... would calling myself “Raye” be... too close for comfort, or... do you think They will find the rhyme funny?” "
> 
> Raye settles into a new life at Elsewhere, far away from her dad and brother, and finds herself both thriving and wondering why it still feels like she's not where she's supposed to be. (Such thoughts are dangerous, after all).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter full of domesticity and good, platonic fluff.

Just because she is Else, she is not foolish to think she can wander the grounds without protection - her father was an Involved Human, afterall, and for all that she inherited the most from Mother, she also has his Human blood in her veins. It is what allows her to cross running water, to lie (though she is loathe to do it), and to touch electronics despite the occasional struggle.

So she carries salt in her pockets, brings plenty of precious stones and jewels for both eating and wearing that are high in iron. All the jewelry is made of iron or certain alloys carefully crafted by her brother that she puts all of her beliefs of protection into. A bag of high-quality bird seeds has been a staple in her bags since her early childhood - you’ve got to feed the crows, you know?

She’s accepted into the Art Major and the competitive figure skating programme, so that she can continue to be creative and keep up with her passion at once. Both her carving tools and skates are freshly honed and sharp enough to cut through delicate flesh with ease, should the situation call for it.

Mother leaves her at the entrance to the accommodations office, a final kiss pressed to her forehead. “For luck,” she says. Not protection. Mother has protected her for so long, now it’s time for her to learn how to protect herself.

The people inside look her up and down, squinting as if looking for things out of place, then look at her paperwork and shrug. They put her in a dorm between the pool and the Art Building - an old place that smells a little like dust and glue and acrylic paints. She thinks that maybe if she airs out the place, the smell will eventually go away.

(It doesn’t).

Her roommate is a short (yet still taller than her), rotund girl with the darkest eyes she’s ever seen and big, curly hair with white feathers clipped into it, who wears the thickest sweater she’s ever seen, decorated with intricate beadwork, and looks like she’s both just as at home and out of place as she feels. 

She offers her hand to shake when they meet by the door. “Call me Pearls,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

She has thought long and hard about which name to choose for her time at Elsewhere. Throughout childhood she has had many beloved ones, but they are each closer to her Name now than perhaps her Name itself. In truth, she’s more comfortable with other people choosing a name for her, but that’s not really a luxury she can afford right now.

She takes the girl’s hand and gives it a firm shake - once, twice, thrice - and lets her response be a question that she’s sure will be understood, if she’s read the other correctly. “Would... would calling myself “Raye” be... too close for comfort, or... do you think They will find the rhyme funny?”

Pearls grins at her and moves to unlock the door. “I think we’ll get along just fine, you and I”.

* * *

Despite the bold statement, cohabitation with a stranger isn’t all that easy, and they have their disagreements in those first few weeks - what level of clean to keep their dorm, who should take out the trash, what to do about clutter. 

It’s worse for her, because without her brother as a social shield - without people she knows around her in general - she is forced to use her words, and it is a struggle. And yes, the words come easier to her here where the lines between Human and Not-Human are blurred, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.

It both helps and doesn’t help that Pearls is quiet, too. Not quiet like she is - with Pearls it’s a choice, like she could be saying a lot, but she chooses to keep her words to herself. She wishes it could be like that for her, too, that words didn’t end up tangled and stuck in her throat. She _wants_ to talk about their schedules, _wants_ to ask about Pearls’ interests, _wants_ to offer friendly greetings and maybe make a friend.

But it’s difficult. So very difficult without her brother to lean on and use as a measurement for acting like a Human, because he is so much better at it.

It all changes one Thursday during dinner when Pearls comes up to her and slides an intricately woven, beaded bracelet around her wrist. It is made in a pattern of dark blue and pale pink and soft green, and accompanied by the words “freely given” and a pat on her head.

She looks at it and can’t help but ask “why?” and Pearls smiles at her.

“Because you try. I don’t exactly know why you do it or why you feel like you should, but you try and I can see that. And I appreciate it. Just don’t force yourself too much for me, okay?”

She finds that her words come a little easier after that.

* * *

Pearls is nice. Not nice in the way that Humans are. Even if she’d been like that before coming to Elsewhere, it would have all have had to go out of the window upon arrival.

There is no “nice” at Elsewhere. Not in the sense that Humans understands, like how her Dad had been with the neighbors and her brother knew how to act like well enough. No, “kindness” and “nice” at Elsewhere is rooted in deals first (like everything else, so as not to accidentally make a harmful Deal later on) and morals second for the same reasons. Yeah, you could do this thing out of the kindness of your heart, but is it wise? What is in it for you? Even Pearls’ bracelet present had in some way been a deal - in return for efforts.

Just as a precaution, she had carved a bracelet of her own out of wood and had returned the favor.

They are truly friends after that, not just friendly roommates.

She learns a lot of things about Pearls in those following weeks. Like her, she’s combined sports with art - swimming with design and fiber arts - which is a pretty big clue to confirm her suspicions of what her roommate is hiding within that constantly-locked room of hers. She loves fish and cooking and sets out on a personal quest to help her grow and gain a few pounds, possibly.

(“So thin, so smol!” She cries teasingly. “I get that you need to be light to do all that twirly stuff, but geez!”)

She has a pet turtle back home named Rush. Her favorite color is pink, and she’s itching to get her hands on some dye and just make her hair the color, but too scared of messing up to do it herself. She’s got a girlfriend called Hilda who is a dance major and has been at Elsewhere for a year already. The woman is a giant of muscle with great legs, but she knows dancing - knows ballet, like Hilda - herself, and knows how important muscles are in that field.

In return, she lets Pearls know more about her own life back home, though she prefers to keep her secrets. How she has a brother, but she doesn’t disclose if he’s younger or older. Of how her Dad is a terrible cook, so she and her brother had to learn cooking out of necessity, because there is only so much a child can handle while waiting for her Mother and her cooking to return from “overseas”. She talks of ramen and big bonfires and her Mother’s mismatched culture. (“A merry little mutt with a bit of everything in my veins”, she calls it). She likes autumn the best (she doesn’t know if that’s a dangerous statement to make in this place, but some risks must be taken), would love nothing more than to strangle Professor Inkblot. (Seriously, how someone teaching Artistic Calligraphy can have such _horrible_ handwriting she’ll never understand, she can hardly read what he puts on the board).

It’s during one of their social chats following dinner that the question finally comes up.

“So pardon my rudeness, but… what exactly are you, Raye?”

In her mind she’s been terrified of having to answer this question. She knows she doesn’t act all that Human, and she’s heard many rumors and whispers about how the Real Raye must be Away, that she got Taken before she even got to the school, because figure skaters are rare in this place. (Dancing on frozen water while balancing on blades is apparently something rarely seen Underhill, though she’s yet to actually experience anything to do with the Gentry… outside of present company).

But when actually faced with the question, she finds herself completely calm, if unsure what to answer.

So she shrugs and repeats what her Mother has told her so many times before: “I’m something Else. I guess it’s… it’s a mix of Involved Human and… y’know, a few generations of Changeling or… some Gentry? I don’t know… Mother never told me”.

Pearls takes a sip of her evening tea. “So you’re Human Adjacent?”

Another shrug. “I guess?”

Pearls breaks into a victorious grin. “I knew it. Hilda’s going to hate that she owes me 10 bucks, she was convinced you were a Changeling”.

She thinks about that for a bit, takes a drink of hot chocolate to buy herself more time for consideration, then offers a question of her own. “Is it… can you be born a Changeling? If you’re born Above?”

This time Pearls is the one who shrugs. “Beats me. Pass the cookies?”

“Freely given,” she says in response, pushing the plate over, just as a precaution. “Mother always called herself Other and a crossbreed, so I’m not sure what _exactly_ is in me?”

“Hmm… probably some pixie,” her companion comments teasingly. “You’re such a tiny thing. You just need the glittery wings and boom. Oversized pixie”.

She ignores the comment for the time being (though she’s going to have to ask Mother about that, or do some family research with the Forbidden Majors), just keeps going, words flowing more and more easily as she talks herself “warm”. “I eat jewels and precious stones like they’re rock-candy, if you’ll forgive the pun. I have… iron doesn’t bother me, my brother is made of it. I can lie, but I’d prefer not to… sometimes it’s like torture for me. I can cross running water, but can’t swim”.

Pearls chokes on her cookie, sending her into a wheezing coughing fit. When she can finally breathe again she chokes out: “Wait, _you can’t swim?_ ”

Living at Elsewhere has brought out a ton of different facets of her personality - traits she didn’t realize she had - and so she levels Pearls with a deadpan look that she wouldn’t have even tried to make prior to her arrival (and coincidentally, it’s also when she has the least trouble with words), and comments in a tone that she never knew she could create: “Really? That’s what you focus on in this? Not the “I eat rocks” thing?”

“Of course!” Pearls’ voice breaks a little and she clears her throat. “I happen to take personal offence to this transgression, we need to fix that!”

* * *

Pearls makes good on that promise, in return for figure skating lessons. 

She’s not even sure how it really happens, other than that word spreads quickly within the “swimming team”, and somehow she finds herself at the pool on a rainy Sunday morning, surrounded by what is undoubtedly a small flock of selkies and Hilda, sporting a cheap swimsuit she never thought she’d use, her massively long hair somehow successfully stuffed beneath a swimmer’s cap.

(The pool must be in a good mood or take mercy on her, because the water is at her waist-level at the lowest and just barely at her chin at the deepest).

(Someone’s brought an almost comically large swim ring. She is above begging them to let her use it, even if she can touch the bottom with her feet, but she’s not _that_ far above it.)

Hilda’s floating on her back in the water lazily, flipping over to do an underwater handstand now and then and reemerging with an elegant twist, only to return to her lounging, a rather smug smile on her face. Like she owns the pool, like she’s the most badass thing for miles.

“She’s a Swan Maiden, isn’t she?” She asks Pearls, who can only grin and nod, looking incredibly pleased. “Figures. Her personality certainly fits”.

She’s promptly shoved into the water for that comment, and so the lesson begins.

It’s a tedious process (for her) that leaves her wrinkly and heavy and takes long enough for three days to pass before midday rolls around, and by the end of it all she can do is a bit of dog-paddling and the beginnings of a breaststroke.

Pearls and her friends still shower her in praises for putting in a good effort and doing well. She earns the name “Paddles” and vows good-natured revenge when she does end up floating around with the massive ring while the selkies show off their diving skills.

Revenge that she gets when she takes them to the rink, showing up in one of her favorite competitive outfits (it is purple, yellow and pink and looks like she’s draped herself in the sky at dusk), just because she can, and then performs one of the routines that earned her gold medals back in high school.

Hilda does decently well, drawing on her experiences with ballet, and ends up being able to successfully pull off a few tricks. She drinks up the widening of their eyes and the gasps she pretends not to hear every time she jumps, spins and twists through the air.

Pearls and her friends (her cousins, she later learns) on the other hand, had forgotten to mention that they can barely even skate, and she takes a bit more pleasure than she probably should in watching them “waddle” across the ice with stiff legs and arms sticking out to the side.

Revenge is best served cold and sweet, and _oh_ is it sweet to cackle and call Pearls “Penguin” in return for Paddles.

(Joke’s on her in the end, because Pearls goes and embraces the name, finding it hilarious to be named after another arctic animal. She still calls her Pearls in every other situation, but on the ice it becomes Penguin).

When they walk back after that first skating lesson, the sun is slowly sinking behind the library and there’s a faint mist covering the ground. Time is of the essence - you never know what might hide in the Mists - but she cannot help herself.

Her heart feels as if it is fit to burst, her body practically humming with energy, and she skips and dances and leaps across the paths, showing off to no one and Everyone without a care in the world. She still secretly yearns for the feeling of flying that she gets on the ice (yearns for flight, for wings she doesn’t have), but the feeling going through her body is a close second.

Upon getting back to their dorm - all windows and doorways shut tightly and salted, and a bowl of chocolate milk set out - Pearls turns to her with a considering look.

“You know, I think I was wrong,” she comments after three too long minutes of staring. “You’re no pixie, Raye… there’s Elven blood in you”.

She blinks, tilting her head to the side. “Hmm… the Scandinavians?”

Pearls nods, humming under her breath. “One of their Lords had a Mound close to where I grew up, and I saw the Ladies many times, dancing through the Mist like you. Your back isn’t hollow, but you’re certainly light and fair enough for it. Add in your “dancing on ice”… why, if you bleached your hair…”

She spends the better part of the night looking at herself in the mirror, after that comment. Really Looking at herself, trying to push what she can See beyond what she’s always known herself to look like.

But in the end, she Sees nothing. Nothing more Else or Other or Different than what she usually sees in the mirror. Certainly no hollow back. (Though the doctors had always been concerned about her low weight and small body, but… there had never actually been anything wrong with her, in any way that they could ever understand).

It isn’t until she goes home for Winter Break (she doesn’t want to leave, she likes it at Elsewhere, she finally feels like she belongs at least a little bit) and sees her family that she realizes the power of Small Changes.

* * *

“Your eyes are different,” her Brother comments quietly one evening, while they’re playing video games in the living room.

She has been back for a week, will still be there for another, and they’ve barely spoken in that time.

(He works now, part-time as a tech and teacher’s assistant to their dad. They moved to Somewhere New - named Gunnerkrigg that calls itself a _Court_ (the parts of her that are Else sneers at their audacity, to even _think_ that they could ever _compare_ to a Court) - where Dad spent his early education, and it is such a Strange place, much like Elsewhere, but it feels Wrong to her and _she wants out she-wants-out shewantsout!_ )

She glances at him. He’s not looking at her, focused almost obsessively on the screen.

“Your eyes are Different,” he repeats, and she hears the capitalization this time. “They are… the colour changes more”.

“Hmmm… haven’t they always done that?” She says, leaning back as she defeats his fighter. He shakes his head almost violently.

“No. Not like this. It’s never been this intense - and it gets worse as you focus on things. Like… I don’t know, like something’s trapped inside them”.

They start up another round.

“Can’t say I’ve noticed anything different,” she admits, clicking buttons in rapid succession in the correct patterns. “I tried to Look at myself in a mirror a month or so ago, but I didn’t See anything”.

He follows the button-mashing, grappling with her fighter. “Maybe you just needed a pair of fresh eyes to Look at you”.

“Sounds plausible. Who knows”.

“You’re remarkably calm about this”.

She loses the match and lets herself fall back against the floor, letting her arms sprawl over her head. “I suppose. I guess I’d be more alarmed if being Elsewhere _hadn’t_ Changed me in some way. I am Else, after all”.

There’s a frustrated noise in his voice (a noise no Human could ever make) when he speaks next. “Sister, why won’t you take this more seriously?!”

“I _am_ taking it seriously,” she turns her eyes on him, and she can tell that they must be doing the thing he was talking about. “Brother-mine, I know you care, I know you worry and that being apart is difficult - perhaps more for you than it is for me, I don’t know - but it is not necessary. Is Elsewhere safe? No, far from. Do I want to go Underhill? Hell no, I like being Above and enjoying what Humanity allows me - and I can’t let of you and Dad and Mother. Do I think being Else puts me at a higher risk of Going Away at some point? I honestly don’t know - maybe, maybe not, we will just have to wait and see. But fact of the matter is that I _like_ being at Elsewhere, and Elsewhere is going to Change those who get Involved, even if they were born into it. It doesn’t change that it feels more like home to me than Anywhere Else, and you know it”.

He is quiet. 

“You’re a lot more chatty, too. You’ve gotten better at words”.

She shrugs. “That’s because it’s you. Befriending a Clan of selkies certainly helps, too, but it’s still difficult around them”.

(It’s a lie. One that comes easier than usual, because doesn’t want to hurt him. It gets easier to interact with Pearls and Hilda and all the others every day, but her brother doesn’t need to know that, doesn’t need to feel like he’s being replaced, feel like she’s leaving him behind).

~~_But she is, she is, she is. She is leaving him behind and they both know it and it hurts to think about, makes her sick, so she lies to herself too and wishes that it makes it more believable for both of them._ ~~

He and Dad drop her off at the train station, a new necklace of iron with a small glass bottle, filled with salt her brother made himself in a lab hanging from it, wrapped around her neck. Like when she first left, she lets Dad kiss her cheeks and cry on her (the most precious of all salt staining her hair), but instead of lifting her, her brother just holds her close.

“Promise you’ll be safe, Sister,” he tells her, once she’s free and has stepped back towards the train.

They both know she can’t, but it’s a nice sentiment, she supposed. All very… Human. Asking to make promises that others can’t keep.

Like when she first left, she calls “I love you” out of the train’s window, and like when she first left she plugs in her headphones, looks away from the window, and between one blink and the next the carriage has shifted from modern and metal to ancient and wooden.

But unlike when she first left, nobody meets her when she gets off. The kid gloves are off, and while she knows someone is waiting for her return within campus, she also knows that she has never been more alone than in this one moment in time and space.

She takes a deep breath that feels lighter than it ever did in that fake court her brother and dad call home.

 _“No. This is much better,”_ she thinks (perhaps foolishly) to herself. Ignores the nagging feeling that perhaps there is a place it could feel even _better_. But such feelings lead down a narrow path that is as winding as it is dangerous.

When she unlocks the door, Pearls looks up, white feathers in her wet hair and a mug of something steaming ready for her in exchange for stories from a place so far away that she could never go to.

 _“Yes,”_ she thinks to herself. _“This is more Home than Anywhere Else”._

* * *

The peace she’s allowed herself to feel lasts for three years.

For three years, she avoids attracting the Attention of Anyone Important of the Gentry by keeping her head down and following the rules, despite being both an artist and an athlete in a very specific field.

They are three good years.

She teaches Pearls her stone carving in exchange for lessons in her pearl embroidery (the seal she starts off showing her to carve earns her much delighted laughter), learns as many different artforms as she can from glassblowing to ceramics to collages and ink paintings. Anything she can get her hands on, she wants to try, and a lot of her projects end up flooding the little dorm or otherwise given away to her selkie friends through deals or shipped back to Dad and her brother. (A vase she’s particularly proud of even makes its way to Mother, when Raye sees her for the first time in over a year).

She skates and makes a name for herself in the big figure skating competitions, somehow avoiding getting Taken by the Winter Court, like a lot of the other people also on the team (Winter ~~_covets_ ~~ favors them, they are performing on _ice_ , it is literally their domain), which is almost disturbing because she’s never even _approached_ by them outside of the occasional Lord or Lady watching them practice from a comfortable distance or attending an on-campus competition, and even then they are there for someone else.

(Pearls says its because there is so much _fire_ in her eyes when she skates, so much _life_ and _innovation_ , unlike the cool perfection and old forms that the other skaters strive for. Perfect little dolls of ice and snow that will dance for Them when prompted).

(She has never been more grateful to be found lacking by anyone, and makes sure to incorporate as much life and fun into her routines from then on).

She experiments with her living situation for awhile. It takes her until her second year to fully accept getting adopted by Pearl and her cousins, and when they get the opportunity to buy a house of their own on the perimeter of campus and close to the water, they invite both her and Hilda to come live with them.

Raye has a lot of reservations about it (she’s not used to living with so many people), but agrees to get a solo room, close to the roof and with a good view over the water.

It ultimately doesn’t work out (she loves them all, but in the end it’s more people than she’s willing to share space with), and she moves into a small studio apartment in Taleisin House - one of the few with private bath and kitchen - with many Promises of coming to visit and hang out weekly.

(She is… happy… she supposes. It gets a little harder each day to ignore that pesky _longing_ and _yearning_ for something that not even being in Elsewhere can cure. It was a good, temporary fix, and she’s happy to call it home… but a stubborn part that refuses to be squashed and kept hidden constantly wonders if it is good enough to be Home.

_It’s enough, it’s enough, it has to be enough._

Ultimately, however… it all changes but a week after her 21st birthday on the Autumn Equinox.

She’s not even at Elsewhere at the time.

It starts, oh so foolishly, with a wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter we really get into the thick of things!


	3. A Lord Comes Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You bear the Legacy well, Little One,” he circles her ever so slowly. “But do not dare to think that flattery and the lies you tell yourself could ever fool me”.
> 
> Raye goes three years without catching the attention of the Gentry. Too bad that she's still Human enough to make wishes where Someone might hear them and come answering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading and for leaving all those wonderful kudos! I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter where we're really getting into things!

They were born when the sun was at its highest on that cool Autumn Equinox, a full moon waiting to rise that night. Made of iron and stone and twilight, completely unique. The Something and the Else, born to balance each other out.

It’s a dangerous birthday to spend at Elsewhere, particularly when factoring in the often forgotten power of numbers (they are 21, on this day - 3 multiplied by 7), and so she is granted a few days off and goes back to her dad and brother’s false court to celebrate it there.

It is just her, dad, and her brother. Well, Mother is there as well, but only briefly - long enough to stay for the evening celebration, then running off again. Other she may be, but she is Gentry enough that all the iron in this place makes her severely uncomfortable.

There is cake. One for the Something, one for the Else. Candles, too, for them to blow out, because tradition. But no wishes - there has never been anything about _wishes_ in their family. Wishes are dangerous, afterall - you’ll never know who might grant them.

Still, on this night of all nights… she finds herself _wanting._ Even if she constantly tells herself that she has nothing that she could possibly want that she doesn’t already have.

_Except…_

It is not that she is ungrateful to her family - to her dad, Mother, and her brother. Her friends as well. They have given her everything she could possibly want. Love, warmth, someplace to belong… a home… 

_And yet…_

She loves it at Elsewhere. She’s got one year left of her Bachelor’s degree in Arts (which Arts, all the Arts, any Arts), is already scouring the Library for topics and inspiration for her thesis and final project (Pearls has had to drag her out of there almost too many times), has her routines that are as solid as the stones she snacks on, loves quiet evenings in her dorm, loves carving figures and jewelry, loves shaping glass and metal and clay into forms both simple and intricate, day out and day in, why, these days she can reach into the kilns and furnaces with her bare hands and not get hurt!

Routines! Schedules! Plans! Scheduled spontaneity! Normalcy, or as close to it as it can get! It’s what she’s always dreamed of!

_She loves it at Elsewhere!_

.

.

.

Okay, so she’s a tad bit dissatisfied with how her life is turning out, and she doesn’t know why.

...that’s a lie, and she knows it. She doesn’t know if it means she’s gotten better or worse at lying to herself.

It’s true that she likes it at Elsewhere. More than Anywhere Else does the campus with all its tricks and traps and pitfalls feel familiar and something like a hope. She’s come to love Pearls and all the others dearly - has let them claim her and has claimed them in return - and is forever grateful for their kindness, though she will never speak a word of it.

It’s just…

For all that Elsewhere is home… she’s come to realize that it will never be Home, either.

And that is a scary thought, because if a place as saturated with the Gentry isn’t enough to make something Else like her feel at Home… then where _will?_

She knows the answer to that deep down, but she refuses to accept it.

Mother fought and clawed her way out from Underhill. She’s not going there. Never.

~~_She won’t. She might. She will. Someday. If she’s careful._ ~~

The candles taunt her, the shadows dance, and a voice inside her whispers “not at Elsewhere, not at Elsewhere, not at Elsewhere”, urging her to just - for one night - be a little Daring, be a little Brave, be a little Foolish.

**_Be a little Human, like you’ve always pretended to be._ **

She looks at the candles. Knows she can’t hesitate or someone will know.

It’s the Autumn Equinox. Magic is strong and she is not Human enough to just make wishes as she sees fit. 

_You’ll never know who might grant them._

She takes a deep breath.

**_Make a wish._ **

She exhales, the flames all dying in one go.

_“I wish for a place to call Home”._

Her heart pounds deep in her chest, fast enough that a mist falls across her vision. Racing, racing, racing… towards what? She’ll never know.

_(But far, far, far away Somewhere Else, Someone does know. And Someone listens and watches, as They have done much longer than she will ever know.)_

~~_AnOther also watches. AnOther also listens. An Other has been waiting for this moment._ ~~

~~_AnOther… amOther… a mOther…_ ~~

She arrives back at Elsewhere early the next morning, as the world is slowly coming to after the night’s revel, unaware of the many eyes suddenly on her and the hundreds of dirty feet scuttling after her, just out of sight.

* * *

By the time he finally appears to her, she has been back at Elsewhere for a week - seven days after the day she started her 21st year, a number that when divided by three gives seven - and she has certainly noticed that something has changed, is changing, will change.

She finds herself alone at the ice rink in the Late Witching Hour, when the sun has gone down but still clings to the horizon by a thread, and the sky is painted in purples and pinks and bright orange and so much red and almost dark blue and purest gold, all coming together in one chaotic harmony that is oh so beautiful to her. She knows it’s a dangerous time to be out, but she has always favored the twilight more than anything else, and so she believes it into protecting her.

Raye dances across the ice, chasing those lingering colors, though she cannot see them through iron and concrete, but pictures them in her mind, wraps herself in them, and hopes that whatever these changes might be, they will let her keep seeing those beautiful dawn and dusk skies that she loves so much.

Oh, she may have been blind to the eyes following her on that first day, but she is something Else and she Sees more than she should. She knows that she has finally caught the Attention of Someone of the Gentry, for amongst the eyes that now follow her, the shadows running around just always out of sight, she can feel something - _Someone_ \- Watching her. Like a predator observing its ignorant prey.

She supposes it was inevitable. Really, it’s a miracle how she has gone so long without being Taken Away. Even Coach - the old woman who trains the figure skaters, regardless of year or talent-level, long-ago fae-touched and more Changeling than Human - has commented on it.

It is while she is at the ice rink in the Witching Hour, at one of the places she feels the safest, during the time where she believes herself to be the most protected, that he makes his first move.

She dances to music coming from nowhere and everywhere (the rink, much like the pool, has a Will of its own, and today it’s playing rhythmic music for her that has her leaping and jumping and spinning), putting on a performance that would delight an audience and stun judges.

It is the moment that she finishes with a flourish and an overly dramatic bow to no one, her heart rushing to keep up with her, that a sound breaks through the stillness.

**_Clap. Clap. Clap._ **

She freezes, lowering her arms ever so slowly.

The frigid air around her turns possibly even colder, carrying with it a humming of _Power_ and a scent that is like electricity and dust and winter breath, of something ancient and mighty that will not bow to anyone. Something that, although she has yet to actually see _(and See)_ anything, screams _Lord_ to her.

She dares not turn around, even as there are steps coming across the ice, getting closer… closer… closer…

“Bravo, bravo! Simply a magnificent performance. Why, you had me positively _spellbound,_ Little One”.

She swallows and tries her best not to breathe. His voice is deep. Smooth, like honeyed wine and silk and things she cannot describe. Like she could listen to him for ages (quite literally) and never tire. And that is a dangerous thought.

“I am honored to have pleased his Lordship with my performance,” she bows her head, tries to make herself look possibly even smaller, and thanks all of her lucky stars and charms that she has no trouble speaking anymore… at least not at Elsewhere. Doesn’t thank him, for gratitude is dangerous, and catching anymore of his attention than she already has is even more so.

“Hmmm…” he comes closer, walks around her, and she catches a glimpse of black, black, _black,_ **_so much black dotted with sparkling stars and deep as space,_** of armor and boots and a long, long, long cape, endlessly long, covering the entire rink. And then… then there’s a hand grabbing her chin, black leather gloves smooth and cool against her skin, light pressure encouraging her to raise her head. “Won’t you look at me, _Seudag?_ ”

She does as he bids, will not risk angering a Gentry, and looks up and up and up and up into mismatched eyes. One as brown as decaying wood and dry autumn leaves, with thin vines of pale blue reaching out from the centre, like hoar frost in winter. The other blue like ice found in glaciers, but with the color of every spring leaf barely there under the surface.

He looks… remarkably Human, even with her eyes that See more than they should. Oh, there is no doubt he is Pure Gentry, of high blood even, definitely a Lord like she’d sensed, but even without a glamour this being could probably trick someone who can’t See into thinking him a Strange Human.

But no… his features are too sharp, too perfect, pale hair seeming to glow with an inherent light of its own (like a waterfall of spun light down his back), and the teeth that are visible as he smiles at her _definitely_ not anything that should ever be on a Human, too otherworldly, too pointed. 

And his _eyes._

_(He’s a predator he’s a predator run run run don’t look back get away get away get away!)_

He is tall, too. Taller than even her brother and her Dad, and oh, she has never cursed being 5’ tall _(barely)_ more, as he towers over her, even with the added height her skates lend her. She thinks that if she stood at his knee-height, she would still only reach a little below his chin.

He notices her Looking (when he had only invited her to look), before she can even think to look away, and laughs.

“Well, aren’t _you_ something Else,” he comments quietly, sounding almost _casual_ , like he is merely talking of trivial things of little importance, like he couldn’t kill her where she stands (and he could, _oh he could_ , even with the protections of iron sewn into her dress and the sea salt lotion rubbed into her skin, she can feel it in the way everything seems to hum). “Haven’t you ever learned that it is rude to Look without permission, Little One?”

She really wishes she could divert her gaze - turn her head, look down, close her damnable Seeing eyes - but he commands her gaze, keeps her face turned up, even as he admonishes her.

_At least he’s not forcing her to look directly into his eyes._

“My deepest apologies, My Lord, I truly meant no harm… these eyes of mine have been able to See since my birth, and I know no other way of seeing,” she admits, hoping he will accept it and not believe her a liar.

Then again, he knows her already to be Else (and really, how could he not?), so she hopes the odds are in her favor.

They seem to be, because he lets go of her chin immediately and takes a step back, giving her the illusion of space, as his cape still wraps around her in a circle on the ice. “Hmmm… no matter,” he says, waving it off like he hadn’t just accused her of being rude to a Lord of the Gentry. “You are a special case, are you not? A _rare_ case… not quite one, not quite the other… so very… _interesting_ ”.

Just like that, Raye knows she’s in trouble, and she curses everything she can get away with without offending anyone or anything.

Because this Lord has just declared that he finds her interesting. She has his _attention_. And that is really the last thing she’s ever wanted. She is Else, but she does not want to be _that_ Else.

_Still, she cannot exactly come out and tell him “no thank you”._

“I would not dare to call myself interesting, nor special, to one of such magnificence such as yourself,” she bows her head low, curtsies as best she can with her skates on, prays that sweet words and flattery, while talking herself down, will keep him off of her case for just a little while longer.

And again, he laughs. But there’s a harsh edge to it, a coldness that wasn’t there just a moment before, and then it turns into a hiss.

“You bear the Legacy well, Little One,” he circles her ever so slowly. “But do not dare to think that flattery and the lies you tell yourself could ever fool _me_ ”.

A single finger runs down her neck, and she feels a sharp edge - like a claw - very nearly cut through her skin, but then it’s gone.

But something about the way this Lord - _this man_ \- is acting and speaking is doing something to her. Nothing good, mind you.

And just like with her foolish wish (and she has a suspicion that _he_ is the one who was summoned because she dared feel like Elsewhere couldn’t reach her in a place of iron and concrete when it dares call itself a _Court_ ), she allows herself to be a little foolish now.

So she straightens her back and spins around to give him a tight-lipped smile.

“My Lord,” she says, barely keeping the bite of displeasure out of her voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure of having you as my audience?”

With that the coldness disappears from his countenance, shifting to a self-satisfied smirk, (but at what? Riling her up?) as he leans down towards her to look her in the eye.

“I’ve brought you a gift _,_ ” he whispers, bringing his hand up in front of her, a white ball of crystal suddenly appearing. “As a token of my _appreciation_ to bear witness to such a beautiful display”.

She swallows again at the sudden closeness, her brief bit of courage quickly disappearing, when she dares ask: “What is it?”

“It’s a crystal,” his voice is slow, almost hypnotic, somehow not mocking her for making him state the obvious. “Nothing more. But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams”.

Something about that has her narrow her eyes in suspicion. “That is a fine gift in return for my practice session,” she says, very carefully, watching her words.

_(“This exchange is uneven”)._

His eyes light up and she forces herself to look to the side and past him into the empty seats surrounding the rink, but she still sees his smirk - all sharp-toothed and dangerous and much too self-satisfied - as he purrs: “Think of it as a little reward in advance, _Seudag._ Just a little _incentive_ for future performances”.

_(“It will benefit me later”)._

He lets the crystal dance across his fingers for an endless moment. Taunting her with an offer she’s not allowed to refuse.

When she finally holds out her hand to accept it, she holds her breath. The smirk never leaves his face, even as he deposits it into her palm.

“What name does such a small thing as you bear?” He asks when he finally straightens and allows her to move again.

She clutches the crystal so hard she worries it might shatter. “I am called Raye in these halls, My Lord”.

He tilts his head to the side, closes his eyes for the first time (she can’t tell if he’s even blinked at all), and hums. “Trying to be clever are we?” He appears to think out loud. Then he opens his eyes again, just the smallest bit, to assess her. “You may be a ray of light, Little One, but I find such a name to be wholly unsuitable to such a _precious_ little thing. No, _Seudag_ fits you much better”.

Her hand is in his, then, before she can even register movement, and he presses a kiss as light as a wisp of fog to her knuckles. “Until we meet again, my Seudag”.

And like that, he disappears, taking all of his darkness and stars with him, leaving behind only the crystal in her hands.

Raye _(Seudag)_ barely bothers with removing her skates before she rushes home to hide herself away behind salt and yarrow and iron until morning, shaking like a leaf the entire way and throughout the night from the shock alone.

Her dreams that night are restless and full of winding paths the smell of ripe fruit and foxes and mismatched eyes that refuse to leave her be.

(In the corner of her room where the shadows are darker than they should, small black eyes watch her and whisper.)

* * *

Pearls comes knocking on her door just before noon, bearing more croissants than she knows what to do, a thermos filled to the brim with hot chocolate and no less than three cans of whipped cream, and a friendly ear to pour her heart to, all freely given.

She is almost afraid to let her in, but refuses to let an encounter with one fae Lord affect her more than he already has. And well… she’s hungry.

“So a friend from another flock says he saw you leave the ice rink like the Hunt was hot on your heels,” Pearls says, once they’ve both sat down, biting into one of their baked treats with a near ferocious enthusiasm.

The questions of “what happened” and “do you want to talk about it” hang unsaid in the air, and Raye knows that Pearls would never demand an answer from her.

(The whole “running like her life depended on it” and “didn’t show up for class” has probably clued her in that something is, indeed, very wrong.)

She blows on her mug and sighs. “Yeah… I was approached by a Lord when I was practicing, yesterday”.

Pearls winces at that. Sharply. Still, there’s a defiant gleam, a brave gleam, in her eyes when she asks: “Do you need us to call dibs on you?”

What can she do but laugh helplessly at such an offer? It’s so ludicrous and touching at the same time. “He’d kill you”.

The silence between them is heavy at that as they both stare into their mugs. Pearls takes another bite of her croissant, digesting the implications of such a statement. 

“He could touch me, you know,” she murmurs after some time. “I was rubbed in sea salt lotion - you know, the nice one my brother sent - and still wearing my skates, and I always wear my training gear with that extra iron sewn into it… and he didn’t even _flinch._ He was wearing gloves, but you know that rarely ever helps anything… unless They’re strong”.

Pearls hisses low in her throat - almost a growl - and grimaces. “Damn, Paddles… any idea what Court he’s from, then?”

She shakes her head. “No. Didn’t look like one of the Seasonal Courts. He wore all black, so maybe Night? But he didn’t really look like one of them, either…” she trails off, trying to remember more. “I didn’t particularly want to Look at him, you know? Not like I can avoid it most of the time, but he ordered me to look at him, and well…”

Her friend chugs the rest of her hot chocolate, then slams the mug to the table and goes for a refill. “So what’d he want? Are you next in line for going Underhill, then?”

That’s when she bites her lip and lets her eyes drift to the shelf where she’d haphazardly stored the crystal in between plants and other knick knacks. Pearls follows her eyes and quickly notices the new… ornament. She jumps when it suddenly appears on the table in front of them, as if summoned.

“He called me out for trying to make myself seem less interesting, gave me that in return for watching me dance, asked for my name, criticized that choice, and now I guess I’m called _Seudag_ to the Gentry? At least to this particular Lord”.

Pearls whistles. “Does it do anything or is it just meant as a light snack?”

Despite everything, she can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “While I’m curious as to how it might taste, no. It’ll show me my dreams if I turn it”.

Pearls narrows her eyes at this bit of info. “Oh, that’s _very_ uneven”.

Something about the way her friend says that just breaks something inside her, and she finally lets herself sink in on herself, leaning her elbows on the table and burrowing her face in her hands. _“He knows that”._

“.......Oh, _Paddles._ Come here”.

Arms fall around her and she lets herself just _melt_ against her best friend and accepts the comfort in the midst of her own helplessness.

(Pretends not to hear the whispers and small feet scurrying around where she can’t see, and the way the crystal appears to glow.)

* * *

The issue is that when one catches the Attention of a fae of Significant Power… there really isn’t all that much that can be done to escape, aside from maybe making one _hell_ of a deal with him or Someone Else. She could arm herself in full plate mail of iron and he whose interest she has caught could probably still get to her. She has no proof, but something inside her is certain of this.

So what can she do but arm herself with the best protections she can get her hands on and wait? He has already let her know in no uncertain terms that he will be seeking her out again. An exchange stacked so highly in her favor (a bit of his personal magic for a simple freestyle session on the ice that wasn’t even planned? Please, that’s like paying thousand of dollars for a copy of a child’s scribbles) is bound to mean he’ll return. _And soon._

So she rubs herself from head to toe in lotions with sea salt and daisies, starts styling her hair with iron hairpins and clips, carries her freshly honed skates with her everywhere, eats obsidian and peridots and citrines between regular meals, and well… hopes for the best.

Coach takes one look at her when she next shows up for practice and just sighs and shakes her head. “I had hopes for you,” the woman complains. “‘course you go ‘n get yourself into a mess right when I’m about to sign you up for the Olympics. Of course they can’t keep Their hands off of my kids”.

She presses a bag of dried yarrow blossoms into her hand when she leaves that day, but Raye still feels those mismatched eyes on her (and the others that seem to follow them) wherever she walks.

When the first frost hits in what she thinks is mid-October, they have their first competition against another university.

That’s when he next appears to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to note:
> 
> 1) Seudag: /ʃiədag/ - means "little gem" in Gaelic. Yes, he spends the entire time calling her short.  
> 2) Contrary to what I'm implying and referencing, the Lord is NOT, in fact, Jareth, King of the Goblins... but what is he, then?
> 
> Once again, thanks for all the lovely support!


	4. Of Harrowing Hardships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God. Damned. Gentry.
> 
> In which Raye finds herself dealing with a rather persistent admirer and discovers hatred.  
> (Also, the author wonders if this is better off getting tagged as a Labyrinth cross-over even if the main focus is on Elsewhere.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving along and the girl who is Else finds that having knowledge can be just as frustrating as being without it.

She is in the changing room when time stops, the girls around her suddenly still and unmoving, and she hears that scuttling noise that always seems to follow her now quiet to nothing. The air around her chills and hums once again, carrying with it that smell of ancient lands and electricity, and she cannot help but shudder in reaction. And there, suddenly between her and the door, he stands in all of his black armored glory and cape cut from the night sky. Still just as tall and intimidating, still radiating power and predator and danger and _getawaygetawaygetaway._

~~_(Still just as perfect and Otherworldly and beautiful and no what the hell is she thinking bad thoughts bad thoughts do not-!)_ ~~

“Seudag,” he purrs, approaching her slowly, like a cat on the prowl, stalking its prey.

“My Lord,” she curtsies before him, keeping her head low. “To what do I owe this honor?”

His hand reaches out, capturing a stray lock that has come loose from the tight bun she’s twisted it into. (A miracle, really, as her hair reaches her knees, these days, but then again it has always been more willing to obey her than it should for how long it is). He brings it to his face and, in a gesture that is oddly tender, kisses the tips. “You are dancing today,” he says. 

It’s not a question, but she treats it as such anyways and gives him an answer. “Yes, My Lord. I am competing to uphold the good name of Elsewhere University’s figure skating team”.

“And what a brilliant name it is,” he agrees. He smiles down at her - one she cannot decipher, an expression shining in his eyes that she has no words for. “But I wonder… will you dance for me, Seudag?”

She freezes in place once more like when he first approached her, dares not even blink as he leans down to look her in the eye, drawing her in like a planet in orbit. “When you don your blades and dance out there, leaping and turning, more lovely than the hollow-backed daughters of the Elven King himself… will you dance for me?”

She swallows. Fails and tries again, for there it is. A deal. 

“What would my dancing be worth?” She whispers, and his next smile is all teeth.

“”Why, that depends on how well you do in your little competition, Seudag,” he straightens back up and the spell ends, spinning around on his heel to face the door again. Then it is cast again as he summons up a crystal like the one he gave her the month before, expertly spinning it across his fingers. Even with his back turned, she feels his eyes on her. “The better you do out there, the better your reward will be. I can’t exactly go around passing out such valuable presents as crystals and dreams for just _anything,_ Little One. You understand… don’t you?”

She does understand, and she thinks she might hate him for it, for the trap he has chased her into by making her accept that damn rock that now sits like a useless paperweight amongst all the stones she eats. 

“I understand, My Lord,” she manages to bite out without too much vitriol behind it. She takes a deep breath to calm her pounding blood and curtsies again. “I will dedicate my dances on this day to you”.

“Perfect,” the crystal disappears in a flurry of sparkles with a sharp _pop._ “Then I shall anticipate whatever wonders you can show me,” and he glances at her over his shoulder with a godawful smirk that infuriates her and she would love nothing more than to tear it off his face. “I’ll see you soon, _Seudag_ ”.

Time starts moving again, and if the junior girls from the team (she is the only senior left) notice anything off with her, they pretend they don’t. Raye herself does her best to pull herself together and act like nothing happened. Because a gauntlet has been thrown, a challenge made. 

She will not just have to do her best out there. She will have to be _the_ best. She’s got a feeling that if she doesn’t get at least a spot on the podium, she will not be rewarded, but _punished_ for delivering a sub-par performance.

So she squares her shoulders, finishes her stretches and walks into the stands when they call her name, tying her skates with practiced ease.

She is clad in dark blue and lilac and a single strip of bright red around her neck and in her skirt, with tiny glass beads made to look like diamonds dotted around her bodice, like a little piece of the night sky before the sun sinks.

And then she effortlessly slides onto the ice and _soars._

* * *

She wins.

Raye of the Elsewhere University Figure Skating Team wins gold, doing Coach and her fellow teammates and the rink itself proud, and while she is high on the rush of victory and the thundering applause of her audience, there is still some apprehension within her.

The Lord had promised her a reward, its value dependent on how well she did, and while she knows she absolutely crushed her competitors and won the hearts of all the judges… one can never be too cautious when dealing with the Gentry.

Time stops again, as soon as the medal hangs heavy around her neck, and there is that slow clapping right behind her once again.

“You truly are a mistress of the ice, Little One”.

She spins around and bows her head. As she expected, while the podium gives her extra height, she does not even reach his chin with how tall he is. “Thank you, My Lord. I take it you found my performance satisfactory?”

He smiles with half-lidded eyes, and once again that hand seems to circumvent all of her protections as he reaches out to grab her chin and lift her head to look at him. “Very much so, darling Seudag, very much so. You exceeded all my expectations”.

She swears his eyes are glowing as he speaks.

Raye swallows and tries her best not to Look too closely, but he makes it difficult as he leans down to be almost nose-to-nose with her, his hand moving up to curve around her cheek and brush a newly-loosened strand of hair behind her ear.

“I do believe you have earned your boon,” his voice is low and rumbling, causing tremors to go through her body. “Did you wonder what it was, as you danced so beautifully out on the ice for me? Did the thought of it fuel you, Little One?”

She wants to tell him that, no, it wasn’t his boon that led her into outperforming herself straight to the top of that podium, wasn’t any sort of desire to gain anything from him. Rather, it was the fear of what he might do to her, what he might take from her, should she offend him by being anything less than the best.

But she can’t tell him that. That would be very much foolish.

_She has a feeling he knows it anyways._

He doesn’t wait for her to answer.

“The boon I come bearing to you, Little One… is knowledge”.

.

.

.

_What?_

He smirks down at her. “Surprised, Seudag?” His hand moves to her hair, tugging ever so slightly at things that have been coiled and twisted to a degree that she has long lost any feeling in her scalp. “Surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t know that you’ve been sniffing about for forbidden knowledge?”

Just like that, she _knows_ she hates him. If she didn’t before, she definitely does now. Because she has been going about, seeking out the Forbidden Majors. Really, what is something Else like her supposed to do when, suddenly, there’s a powerful as all hell Lord following you around, constantly watching, waiting (for what, who knows?) in the shadows? And all those damned _whispers_ that follow her along with hundreds of steps? She doesn’t even know which Court he is from, and that is perhaps the most terrifying of all, not knowing your enemy.

So she had traded an in-depth interview about her life growing up as Else Above (and a few x-rays to see if there’s anything special about her anatomy) to a guy doing research on the Courts and all their intricacies, in exchange for help figuring out what might be this Lord’s deal. So what? They had come up empty-handed, save for a handful of rumors of a hidden, but highly influential Court that rarely ever interacts with the Above.

She had been so careful, had taken all the precautions. She hadn’t even heard whatever follows her around, when they had disappeared into the Library.

And still he knows. And now he mocks her, offering her that knowledge on a plate.

_She hates him._

He holds up three fingers, still smirking, like he owns the world, and she knows he is aware of her hatred. “Three questions you may ask. Three questions I will answer with complete honesty. Make them count, Little One”.

(Also, she could _really_ do without the comments about her lack of height!)

She squares her shoulders and wills herself bigger than she is. It’s difficult to do when his hand is still in her hair, prodding at the pins she’s stuck in there to keep it all in place, but she makes do.

“My Lord,” she forces a polite smile. “From which Court do you hail?”

When he smiles back at her, it’s mocking her with how wide it is. He’s not laughing at her out loud, but he is nonetheless laughing at her for her reaction to being called out (and her refusal to acknowledge it). “You waste no time at all, do you?” He raises an eyebrow at her. “But very well. I am of the Goblin Kingdom - and long is our sovereignty, outside of the Seasonal Courts, despite their dependence on us”.

She blinks. Goblin Court? None of her research had brought up anything of the sort. But those rumors… damn it all, she wants to ask for clarification, but she’s got other, more pressing matters to inquire about!

“My protections do nothing against you,” her eyes narrow at him. “Salt and iron and yarrow and all the belief I can pour into anything of significance… how come none of it matters against you?”

“Oh, but _they matter,_ ” he mirrors her expression, but on him it truly looks terrifying. She hates him too much to care about it at this point. “Don’t think that I don’t feel those sharp edges of yours, Seudag… the issue here is that you’re just not aware of what you’re dealing with, _precious one,_ ” he drawls, finally letting go of her, only to suddenly disappear and reappear behind her before she can react, leaning down to hiss in her ear: “Do you take me for some kind of _“ordinary”_ Lord, to shy away and let something like metal and weeds stop me? Don’t make me laugh, Little One - out of all the beings found in this place, you will never encounter anything even close to my caliber. Why don’t I show you, since you seem so adamant to defy me?”

Ice stabs through her body, permeating into every vein and nerve, and then there’s _pressure,_ unlike anything she’s ever felt before, all around her. It is suffocating, burning with how cold it is, pushing her down and keeping her up all at once, she’s caught in a stalemate. 

_She can’t breathe. She cannot breathe. She. Can. Not. Breathe._

He steps back and around the podium with deliberate slowness to face her again, and she knows he can see - can smell - the fear that she tries so desperately to beat back so she can hold on to her hate, to her rationality. Even when every fibre of her being screams at her to run, but she can’t move - the pressure is too heavy, too strong.

She wishes with all of her might - foolish though it is - that she could wipe that _gods damned smirk_ off of his too-perfect face.

And then the pressure leaves and she doubles over, heaving in air the best she can without hyperventilating. Of course he uses that opportunity to touch her chin and lift her head to face him, only to show her his free hand, glove melting away to show her pale white claws and long fingers covered in faintly red splotches.

“You see, Seudag?” His expression is one of a parent indulging a child they know is wrong, but who is throwing a tantrum - utterly condescending and demeaning. “All those little protections of yours are like but the faint sting of fire too close to my skin or a common nettle. Noticeable in the moment, but barely even painful in the long run”.

(She hates him. _She hates him._ She wants to see him **_bleed._** ) 

Her teeth snap shut with an audible click and the glove is back on his hand. Again, like she is a child throwing a tantrum and he the patient adult, he wags a finger at her.

“Tsk tsk, Little One, such attitude - and after I so generously offer you the knowledge you desire, and so much more. Is it not kind of me to let you ask your third question, when my little _demonstration_ should have counted as a third answer?”

“Your Lordship is skilled at mind-games,” she bites out as an answer. 

His response is to shrug and grin at her. “One has to be when dealing with the Gentry, Little One. It’s not my problem if you’re easy to catch up in them - but please do continue, it’s very entertaining”.

Raye has to try _very_ hard not to make her last question “why are you such a prick?”. For one, it would surely get her killed, but also it would be a waste of good knowledge.

She’s torn, however, between asking him for a name to call him by (because calling him “My Lord” is surely only stroking his ego, something she finds that she does not want to do), and asking him just what the hell he wants with her (but she’s afraid of what that answer will get her).

Still… if she wants as much knowledge as possible out of this, so that she may better know her adversary…

“My Lord… what do you want from me?”

His damnable smile widens even further than what should be possible, all sharp teeth on display. And once again he slides his hand into her hair and leans forward to breathe against her ear.

_“Everything”._

Time resumes, and he is gone.

Her hair falls in long waves down her back, iron hair pins stolen away to the Elsewhere, never to be seen again.

She exists the ice with a calmness that hides the turmoil rolling within her - the fear, the hatred, the confusion.

* * *

Several things happen between the competition and the Samhain holiday at the end of the month.

First, she gives up protections she can wear in her hair, when all of her attempts at crafting hairpins of yarrow or hazel or anything else all end up disappearing within the hour of actually coming into contact with her hair. She mourns the pretty iron ornaments she otherwise loves to wear, but comes to value them as pretty decorations on her vanity instead.

Second, Pearls fusses over her for a day or two following the event, but accepts her decisions to handle the mess on her own. (Her friend doesn’t deserve to be dragged into her problems).

Third… fruit starts appearing in her apartment after each of her training sessions. An orange, a bowl of cherries, an apple, a plum… the list is long, considering she trains twice a day, sometimes.

She has no doubt who they’re from, and she is frankly disgusted by it. She wants _nothing_ to do with eating Faerie food, thank you very much, and if he _really_ thinks she’d ever sink so low as to fall for that, then she seriously needs to reevaluate her thoughts about his intellect.

(Still… not like she can throw the fruit away, either, so it just ends up sitting decoratively in a bowl on her table. None of the fruits ever show signs of rotting).

Finally fourth… she keeps researching. She spends several days that last three hours in the library researching all she can about the Goblin Kingdom and Court, scouring the shelves for what little information she can find.

It’s not much, but what she does end up with speaks of a Court with great power and influence, but little desire to use it outside of its own boundaries. A neutral Court - as neutral as the Gentry can be - that serves its own interests as much as it does that of its Seasonal neighbors, sometimes Unseelie, sometimes Seelie, Day or Night, matters not. More likely to align with the Court currently in Power, but also has a tendency to stand back and observe.

_Known for responding to Wishes. Known for stealing children and leave Changelings. Known for orchards full of enchanted fruit. For its widespread and ever-changing labyrinth that guards the King’s castle._

Some of the books are unavailable to her. Oh, she can touch and open them just fine, but the text inside is written in a language and script that is unfamiliar to her, ever shifting and moving no matter what she tries. Eventually she is forced to give up when Pearls and Hilda come to drag her away, but she commits the place she found the book to memory.

 _(He watches her efforts from Underhill and_ **_laughs_** _.)_

And then it’s Samhain and she would really like to go see her Brother and Father for an extended weekend, but the train has mysteriously broken down and there is something wrong with her ticket and she’s forced to stay at Elsewhere when she might very well be on the brink of being Taken.

So she does the only thing she can otherwise do.

_Goes to Pearls’ and Hilda’s place for a private celebration and sleepover._

When she finally gets out of class, it is already late and the sun starting to set. Raye has never been more relieved that she keeps some of her stuff at the selkie house for emergencies like this.

She’s in such a hurry to get out and to safety that she almost doesn’t see the white fox that starts following her as soon as she leaves the building.

_Almost._

It is snowy white black-tipped ears and feet. The brief glimpse she gets at its eyes shows much more intelligence than should be expected of an animal, and well…

_They’re a tad too familiar._

It keeps its distance, but knowing that she’s followed has her put those leg-muscles of hers to good use as she _sprints_ the rest of the way to Pearls’ house, cutting what is usually a 40 minute walk down to 15.

It is an act of raw willpower that prevents her from yelling at the selkie cousin who lets her in (a freshman going by Phosphor) to lock the door and barricade it.

_And then she lets herself get fuzzed over while she catches her breath, because damn the Gentry all to hell, present company excluded._

“A white fox, you say?” Pearls comments when she can finally get herself off the floor and onto a barstool, draping herself over the kitchen counter, facefirst into the cool plastic, nodding the best she can.

“I’ll bet you anything that it was either my “devoted fan” or something possessed by him,” she scowls, eyeing the glass of rosé that is set down in front of her. “I’d recognize those mismatched eyes anywhere, with how he’s made me look into them so many times”.

“Far be it for me to downplay your experiences, Paddles, but… you’ve met him in person three times,” Pearls points out as she bustles around the kitchen, bringing out bowls and sugar and flour.

“That’s three times too many,” she argues, forcing herself to get up and leaning heavily on her elbows. She takes a sip of wine, hoping to calm her nerves. “Trust me, those eyes aren’t something you’d just _not notice._ I’ve had my unwilling Look, I’m not going to forget”.

“Hmm…” Pearls goes quiet, then, as she starts mixing flour and sugar and butte and eggs. She can hear people around her - soft rock through the floor and someone yelling at a TV (sounds like a racing game) coming from upstairs, the faint sounds of Hilda reading in the living room…

It’s nice.

She eyes the many things spread out across the kitchen. Her gaze falls on a bowl of peaches, freshly washed and ready for…

“What are you making?” Raye asks, suddenly realizing that in her hurry to get to safety she hadn’t considered what Pearls might be planning.

“Peach cake”.

She keeps staring at the fuzzy things. “Bit out of season for peaches, isn’t it?”

Pearls shrugs. “Yeah, well… you know that weird little verse the Dorm 5 girls have about Tuesdays?”

Raye doesn’t think there’s anybody at Elsewhere University who _doesn’t._

“Phosphor’s made friends with one of ‘em,” she explains “and she got to go raiding with them - turns out there’s a hell of a lot of truth about it, but really, what did we expect? Brought home a net of peaches and a bunch of other good stuff. But none of us really know what to do with peaches other than eat them raw, so I figured… might as well bake! Think I’ll try making jam if this goes well, too”.

Well… she can’t really question that logic, now can she?

Though there’s something… different… about one of them. And suddenly it hits her.

“Hey, one of them’s an apricot”.

Pearls looks up and picks out the odd fruit from the net. “Huh… so it is,” she looks at it for a bit, then puts it back. “Strange”.

She doesn’t know why this random fruit stands out so much to her - by all means, it’s just an apricot. But it does. Maybe it’s because, lately, all fruit she’s seen outside of stores has been Fae Fruit (well, _Goblin Fruit_ is probably more accurate by this point), and thus she has point blank refused to eat it.

It’s funny… it’s been years since she last had an apricot. She has fond memories of spending three whole weeks of a summer holiday at a little farm house they rented that had an apricot tree that she fell in love with. She spent many hours napping or playing with her brother around that tree, plucking and eating the fruits straight from the tree.

Some part of her _screams_ that this is dangerous, this could be a _trap_ , that it’s way too convenient for a fruit heavily tied to her personal nostalgia should just so happen to appear all alone in a net of peaches _…_ but she’s honestly just so tired from the stress that meeting the Lord has caused her, and she’s feeling awfully hungry after that sprint.

Besides, this is fruit that was gotten in a very public and protected place, by one of Pearls’ trusted cousins, and how would that Lord even know about that memory? Surely it won’t…

“Hey, can I eat this? The apricot, I mean?”

A shrug. “Go ahead, I don’t know what to do with it. All food in this house is freely given”.

So she throws caution to the wind and sinks her teeth into soft orange flesh, and oh, it’s just perfect. Sweet and tart and with just the right amount of bite to it-

And then a deep-boned tiredness hits her, washes over her like a wave, and Raye knows she’s _fucked._

_God. Damned. Gentry._

She barely manages to get out a slurred “Pearls”, before her body starts swaying and she falls forwards and over the counter. She faintly hears the thunderous clattering of Pearls dropping whatever she’s holding, calling for someone, the removed feeling of someone touching her as if through thick layers of cotton wool…

But the bitten apricot falls out of her hand and rolls to the floor… and she is _gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Dorm 5 and raids on Tuesday are, of course, from Runwildwithme's absolutely amazing Elsewhere University fic "Feathers - An Elsewhere University Tale".
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the kudos and comments! I love and appreciate each and every one of you ^_^ I try to answer your comments in a timely manner, but I'm also currently working on my Master's thesis so sometimes I end up forgetting/losing track of how many days have passed.
> 
> Also, seriously, if any of you guys think I should tag this as a cross-over with "Labyrinth", then I will, just let me know - because it's essentially what this fic is, I just don't know if it actually belongs in that fandom just yet. (Also, how the hell isn't there already "Labyrinth" cross-overs for Elsewhere, yet? They seem like such good fits for each other!)


	5. Aurora in the Revel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She comes to at a revel, dressed in the Aurora Borealis and surrounded by royalty. She can only thank her lucky stars that at least they're not Royalty.
> 
> In which there is dancing and a too-smug Lord and a the groundwork is laid for a new Lady to take the stage.

She comes to in a ballroom, sat on what she later realizes is a red velvet settee with her head leaning against a cool, marble(?) pillar. 

Consciousness comes slowly at first, as she tries to figure out what happened and what is happening around her.

 ** _Music. Voices._** _Pearls making cake._ **_A fox with mismatched eyes._** _Kitchenware clattering to the floor. Shouting._ **_Cool leather against her face. The touch of something soft against her brow._**

_A too perfect apricot and a poor decision made in a place that should have been safe._

Then consciousness hits her like a truck, and it takes all her willpower to not shoot up immediately.

When she does open her eyes, the ball is already in full swing around her.

No. Not a ball.

_A revel._

She sits like that, head against the pillar, for what could be hours, seconds, days, minutes - she does not have a feel for time in this place, but there are three things she is extremely aware of.

She ate Fae Fruit. She is Underhill. And she is very much in danger.

All around her are the Gentry. High and low, small and tall, as Human-like as possible and almost completely Eldritch. Dressed to the nines in materials that have no human name, draped over bodies too horrific and too beautiful all at the same time, bearing masks to hide their True Faces from view.

Lords and Ladies. Royalty, but not **_Royalty._ **

Her heart very nearly stops.

And in between all these dangerous beings she sees them. Humans. So small, so frail, so mortal. Legacies and New Blood alike, still mortal and in so, so, so much danger. Only for mere moments, mind you, when their eyes meet through the eternally moving bodies - they are the only ones without masks, without anything to hide, because try as they might, Humans will always bear their hearts and souls too close to the surface, never hidden well enough.

She sees it in their eyes. Recognition. Fear. Apprehension. That she is Human and Strange and Else - not quite them, not quite Them. And then they are turned away and she Sees it all disappear and their eyes glaze over as they are dragged further into the crowds.

~~_Between the moving bodies she thinks she sees Mo-… no, that is ridiculous, why would she be here?_ ~~

~~_Something feels wrong, worry settling low in her stomach. Nothing is impossible in this place, and Mother always left out so much more than she’d care to admit._ ~~

Which begs the question why he wants her Here, at this revel, with all of these high and mighty Beings.

She finally rises, finally starts noticing what state she is in when she catches sight of layers upon layers of skirts of deep blue and pale green falling from her waist and soft pink draped over her arms for sleeves (matching the bracelet that Pearls so generously made for her all those years ago, the bracelet she has never gone without since), stars embroidered into the fabric, so lifelike that she thinks the material might very well have been made from the night sky itself. Below it pale green shoes.

From what she can tell, the gown is actually quite lovely. However, as it was most assuredly **_him_ ** who put her in this dress, she must hate it. To do anything else would be admitting defeat and giving in, and it is the one thing she refuses to do.

Regardless of what pettiness she will allow herself, though, she is stuck at a revel. And so she must join in the revel, because it is only polite to do so, no matter how little choice she actually had about her attendance.

So she tentatively starts moving around the edge of the room (it seems endless, stretching and going on forever and ever and ever as the bodies spin to music coming from nowhere), looking around for any possible opening and tries not to acknowledge herself or any of the Gentry too much (but not too little, either), moves with the all the grace and fluidity and precision that has earned her gold several times, yet still looks stilted and out of place surrounded as she is by creatures so Other Worldly that there are no words to describe them.

Before she knows it, before she’s even aware of it, she’s been dragged into the dancing, her feet moving along to a rhythm and dance that she doesn’t know the steps to. (Or that she didn’t think she knew the steps to).

She dances for days, years, eons, condensed into minutes, seconds, moments. She locks eyes with another Human for longer than a second and realizes that she Knows her, outside of this revel, knows who she is, and that this girl knows who she is, too, and that neither should really _be_ here, probably… but the Lady she is with drags the girl further into the crowd, into the dance, and then the moment is gone and- oh.

A rather familiar pair of hands wrap around hers from behind her and spin her around and further off into the crowd.

She doesn’t even try to hide her displeasure when she turns and looks up up up at him. “That was a trick much lower than I thought you willing to stoop, my Lord”.

He looks down at her from behind an elaborate, golden mask bearing the visage of a fox. One hand falls to her waist. “Would you have accepted my invitation to join us tonight if I hadn’t?”

“Of course not”.

“Well, then I stooped exactly as low as I needed to, didn’t I?”

………much as she hates to, she honestly can’t fault that logic. She’s got enough gentry in her to understand such a thought-process to an almost frightening degree of “oh yeah, this makes sense”.

She doesn’t want to tell him that, though, but well… now that’s she already caught up in this trap…

“I suppose you did,” she grimaces at the triumphant grin he gives her the second the words are out of her mouth. She tries very deliberately to step on his feet in retaliation, but his legs are too damn long and he easily moves out of the way at each attempt. “Too bad that your “ _invitation”_ came through Fae-food”.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Seudag,” he snorts (rather unlike him, she’d expected a scoff), spinning her so that her back is to his front. “As if an apricot from Our orchards would be enough to entrap you here, you’d have to be a Human for that”.

“I was Human raised, though. A lot of people believe me one,” she counters, tilting her head back to look up at him (ignoring all the eyes suddenly upon her).

Somehow she knows he’s raising an eyebrow at her behind that mask. He has to, with that smirk. “Belief only goes as far as the person it concerns. Do _you_ believe that you’re a Human?”

She bites her lip, hates that he’s right. “.........of course not”.

He spins her back around and the dance continues. She can feel the satisfaction rolling off of him in waves at having her compliant.

For awhile, she lets herself give in to the music and just dance and forget just, exactly, who is holding her and spinning her around and around and around until she has forgotten what is up or down, Real and Unreal, sweet dream and vicious nightmare (does it matter, in the end?)

Of course, doing that is dangerous in this place. So she’s just a little bit grateful when his voice pulls her back to consciousness. His voice which is, all of a sudden, oddly sweet and gentle, with none of that snark or bite that she has come to know.

Oddly… _sincere._ Like he’s not trying to actively threaten or manipulate her under the guise of sweet words. And the look in his eyes… the mask makes it hard for her to see them, but she’s got a feeling he’s looking at her _differently._

“You look lovely tonight,” he tells her, one hand moving up to brush a piece of her hair - unbound and long and loose around her shoulders - behind her ear.

“It was not by my hand,” she doesn’t thank him, wouldn’t dare to in a crowd such as this… wouldn’t dare to if they _weren’t_ in a crowd such as this, either. (Not that she wants to thank him anyways). “You are better off flattering yourself”.

He hums, low in his throat, almost a growl. “I only commissioned the dress,” (he spins her under his arm) “and made sure that you were brought here wearing it. I can take no credit for the rest, except… maybe…”

Before she can even react, he’s whisked her off again, spinning and turning, ever in motion… until they stop, and she is spun one final time to face what she thought was just more of an endless room the first time she investigated.

The room may still be endless, but she realizes now that even this Place has Walls.

_Those Walls being made entirely of mirrors._

Mirrors, mirrors, mirrors, all around her, interspersed with grand pillars shaped like far-reaching trees holding up a ceiling so far, far, too far, higher than the sky, above her. 

She looks at the other Raye in those mirrors. Feels relieved that it doesn’t act like it’s independent.

……the gown really is quite lovely, damn him to hell. The deep blue of the bodice and the main skirt really does look like it’s cut from the night sky itself, and with the gossamer layers of green and pink for petticoats and sleeves, matching ribbons lacing up her back… almost luminescent… stopping just short of her knees… 

_He’s dressed her in the Aurora Borealis._

But then something shifts and she Looks at herself, and while she’s never before Seen anything of note… now she Sees, and wonders how she went Blind for so long.

Her skin shimmers and dances in the light, not quite dew and not quite frost - diamonds, _stars,_ right under her skin, shining with an inherent, Otherworldly light.

The colours in her eyes dance and shift and move and spin, ever in motion. Blue and purple, then silver and gold and copper, then swirls of bright orange on teal and green.

Her hair… much thicker than she remembers it ever being, and much blacker - a deep, deep, deep void, swallowing up all light that hits her, shimmering from within. True Midnight, a Black Hole, draped around her body, darker still than his armor and cape, yet a perfect match.

Her heart almost stops.

_She has never looked less Human. Has never looked more Else. No, she has never looked more like-_

“You made me look like a **_Lady_ **…” her voice is barely a whisper, low and faint, almost lost in the noise of the revel. With a shaking hand, she reaches up as if to touch her reflection, but she dares not touch the surface.

He hums again, looks down at her and runs his hands over her hair and down to her shoulders. “Not quite. You certainly look the part in such finery, Seudag, that I agree - but this is all you, what I’d wager you’re _supposed_ to look like, once you’re in the right place. But you, a Lady? No, not quite,” and he leans down and whispers against her ear **_“not yet”._ **

And.

E v e r y t h i n g.

Stops.

Her head swims, her heart jumps to her throat, then her stomach, then back again to her chest, doing its very best to break through her ribcage.

She cannot breathe. Her eyes swirl and brighten, until they are like endless pools of light in the mirror. For the time being, she ignores his first comment - of right places and what she should look like. Instead, his voice repeats in her head, even as he remains silent, just watching her.

**_Not yet. Not yet. Not yet._ **

Something appears in his hand - a thing made of metal (silver? iron?) shaped like a strange symbol that she hasn’t seen before… or she thinks she hasn’t seen it before? Something about it feels awfully familiar, even if she can’t see it clearly.

A pendant?

The music swells, the dancers in the mirror turn and twist. Lights shift and the moon rises and falls.

She watches the figures in front of her.

The Fae Lord reaches out to the Lady in the mirror with a gloved hand (oh so gentle, or so careful) and brushes her hair aside, tucking it behind her left ear and pins it up - ah! It’s a hair clip.

And then there’s a weight against her temple, and she blinks, and the Lady becomes herself again and the Lord her… her stalker, her tormentor, her patron?

_(What is he to her, what does he want with her, what will she have to give, to give up? What will she be willing to give him?)_

“There,” he whispers (breaking her thoughts, shattering them to pieces) and she can see his eyes shine as brightly as hers through the mask. “Now you are perfect”.

Words fail her.

On one hand… it’s beautiful, in its own way. It’s heavy against her head, but she has a feeling that it will never fall from her hair, no matter how hard she tries. And she likes how it sits right above her ear.

On the other hand… she hates it, by virtue of it being from him. She can feel his power humming within it, like it’s a brand - that she is his property, his plaything.

And on a third hand… this cannot be a gift, a debt. She cannot allow it.

“Do you like it?” He whispers, breaking her many, many thoughts.

“No,” she lies, pointedly ignoring the smirk she catches in the mirror, the way it calls her out as a liar. “What is such a gift worth?”

He tilts his head to the side, letting his fingers run through her hair. “Would you believe me if I said it was freely given?”

And to that, all she can say is “of course not”.

He closes his eyes and hums, repeating her words. “Of course not, of course not. Then… for this gift, how about you give me a name in return?”

She has never before experienced her hackles rise so quickly, but when she turns to face him it’s with fire enough in her veins to cause a volcanic eruption and a voice that sounds like a lightning strike. _“Tell me why I should not eschew all manners and throw this horrid thing at you, consequences be damned, for asking such a thing of me!”_

(She doesn’t notice that the music has quieted, that the dancers close to them have begun to stare).

All he does is laugh. “Such temper,” he comments. “And so quick to misunderstand, Little One”.

“You asked me,” she hisses out between gritted teeth “for my _name_ ”.

“Quite the contrary, little spitfire,” he drawls, spinning a lock of her hair around his finger. “I asked you for _a_ name, not _your_ name, and even then… try to think of what I said, Seudag”.

She narrows her eyes at him, still seething, doesn’t give him an answer.

He bows down and leans forward so that they are nose to nose. “I asked you for a name, Little One. _I_ asked _you_ to give _me_ a _name_ ”.

.

.

.

She stares at him, when she finally catches what his intonation means. Caught even more off-guard than he’s ever caught her before.

 _“What?”_ She thinks.

“Why?” In the end it’s all she can ask, much as she loathes the chuckles she gets in return.

“As pleasant as it is to be called _your_ Lord, Little One, do you not tire of it? Would it not be simpler to just call me by a name of your choosing?”

And then he smirks, oh so horribly triumphant.

“Besides… wasn’t that what you _really_ wanted out of me at our last encounter, Seudag?”

.

.

.

 _“Oh,”_ she realizes, upon being confronted with how much of an unrepentant bastard this Fae actually is. _“I’m going to die killing a Lord._ **_Great_ "** _._

The direction of her thoughts must show on her face, because he laughs - openly and freely.

“What a wonderfully Else expression on you,” and he finally reaches up to remove his mask, hitting her with the full intensity of his gaze. “But we are getting off track, and I am still name-less to you, and the Night grows ever shorter - you _do_ want to go back to that little University up there…” and suddenly they are nose to nose again _"do you not?”_

_(She finds herself captured by those eyes of his, eyes that seem ever changing, with the once brown eye suddenly more blue and ice like than she knows it once was, and the ice in the other giving way to green-green-green like fresh leaves in spring.)_

Raye has to tell herself _very_ carefully to not try to bite the (loathsome) Lord. Or spit in his face. Or try to jab his eye out. Or a kidney.

All actions would _probably_ lead to her death, though, right? Or aeons of torture - he seems to enjoy toying with her, maybe he wouldn’t kill her immediately?

Still, without a doubt, biting or spitting or jabbing him would definitely lead to nothing good, and so he once again has her cornered.

So as she glares at him, she thinks and looks and Looks and thinks… she has several things she would certainly like to call him, none of them particularly nice or things that would probably lead to anything good or beneficial down the road.

She thinks of a fox following her.

She thinks of leather gloves and claws on her neck.

She thinks of poison, for the hidden danger in his words, all carefully disguised behind a too-perfect outer shell.

She swallows, tries to get some moisture back in her suddenly all too dry mouth.

“I would very much like to return safely to the University, _Lord Foxglove_ ,” she whispers, and her voice sounds strange even to her ears.

She hates the way he grins, the victory clear as day in it. “Very well”.

His hands move to cover her eyes, and the last thing she hears is his voice against her ear, whispering: _“Time to wake up for now, Seudag. I’ll see you soon”._

Around her, all the mirrors shatter… 

And then she is…

Falling.

_Falling._

**_Falling._ **

**_F a l l i n g._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More references to Labyrinth, this time of the ever famous ballroom scene - even if I took a few liberties with how the ballroom looks.
> 
> Also, the Fae Lord finally has a name! I hope you guys have been enjoying Foxglove so far, because he's really fun to write.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, they really make my day :)


	6. Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows she's going to thoroughly piss off the Winter Court by stepping in. But when she looks at how the Lady crowds over the freshman - the poor girl she saw at the revel - she can't stop herself.
> 
> In which someone has to help and take responsibility. Raye supposes it has to be her.

She awakens on the couch in Pearls’ living room, a cluster of deep eyes and dark skin surrounding her perhaps a little too closely.

But the blanket she is wrapped in is soft and warm, and the pillow under her head perfectly lumpy, so she supposes she doesn’t mind too much.

“Oh Paddles,” Pearls, sat faithfully at her side with her hand carefully held between her own, breathes a side of relief. “Thank the tides, I thought we might’ve lost you to the Fruit for a moment there”.

Her mind is fuzzy, her mouth tastes like cotton, her body heavy as lead, and her feet…

“Fuuuuck, my _feet_ ,” she manages to rasp out a groan.

“What’s the matter with your feet?” And there’s Hilda, immediately lifting up the blanket and pulling off her socks.

“They fucking burn, that’s what they do,” she hisses as Hilda prods at her soles and ankles, only for her muscles to clench and almost creak from the pain. “Fucking Lord, did he put me in heels? I wasn’t any taller, so I think they were flats, but I don’t know anymore”.

“So it was him, then?” Pearls helps her sit up while Hilda’s fingers dig into her feet, massaging them in an attempted to get movement back.

“Of course it was him,” she fails hard at not snarling at her friends, but she’s in too much pain and too pissed in general to care. “Used poor Phos,” she nods in what she thinks is the general direction of the girl “to get that damned apricot to a place I felt safe, then pulled me to a revel full of royalty!”

Somewhere in the background she hears a hissed “oh damn”.

“That explains these blisters,” Hilda lightly circles the balls of her feet. “Damn, Raye, your feet look worse than mine after summer recitals!”

“I bet they do, I could’ve been there for days for all I know”.

“Can’t say how long it was Underhill,” Pearls says, and suddenly there’s a glass of cold water pressed to her lips, urging her to drink. “But it’s just past midnight here”.

Raye thinks that fits very well with what the Lord - no, _Foxglove_ \- told her in that ballroom. “Probably didn’t want to keep my past Samhain anyways”.

“But he could have,” Hilda says grimly, getting up from where she’d been crouched at her feet. “Frankly, I’m surprised he did at all. You ate of Their food”.

“I’d have to be Human for that to work,” she mutters, something heavy and sour pooling in her stomach when she copies Foxglove almost word for word.

(No, not quite sour… it feels like… dread, like disappointment, but also like she’s lighter… like finally telling the truth after lying for so long).

“Belief is powerful around here, though, and you’ve been working so hard to be Human… you’re not, obviously, but… there could be side-effects”.

She gives a half-hearted shrug that turns into a rather painful (though much needed) stretch that throbs all throughout her body. “Not feeling any of those right now, if there are”.

Hilda shakes her head. She can see the carefully muted disbelief and worry in them, then turns, muttering about going to get the healing ointment the dancers use whenever they mess up their feet.

Hands start combing through her hair, and it is not long before she feels herself start to drift off again.

“Our dear little Raye,” there’s Pearls fussing and fretting over her, and a blanket getting tucked around her body. “And he got you another gift, too, oh dear,” careful touches to the clip still in her hair. “What did you have to give in return?”

She yawns, turning bleary eyes towards her voice. “A name…”

She can feel the chill fall over the room and imagines the looks of shock and outrage on their faces. In the background, she thinks she can hear something shatter and a muttered curse.

Another yawn and, oh, that feels like fur under her head all of a sudden… so soft and warm… “He wanted me to name him, so I did,” she snuggles into the warmth, jerking only a little when something cold is suddenly spread all across her aching feet. “Named him Foxglove”.

“That’s a dangerous name to give someone”.

 _“I don’t care at this point,"_ she wants to say, but her body is too heavy and warm and the darkness and numbness of sleep is quickly enveloping her once again.

At least it’s not the forced tiredness of the apricot, of a Lord willing her to sleep and dragging her down, down, down, Underhill and Underground, making her dance to Their tunes, trapped in an endless ballroom of mirrors and masks.

She falls asleep to the sound of muted voices.

She falls asleep and dreams of nothing.

_(Nothing… except the pleasant feeling of a gloved hand running through her hair and someone crooning lullabies to her in a language no mortal tongue could ever hope to comprehend)._

* * *

Against the better judgment of a lot of people, Raye is back up and moving and after spending the first day of November on Pearls’ couch waiting for her feet to heal completely.

Winter is coming. She’s got finals to prepare for and competitions to win if she wants to make it to the Olympics next year, and with a Lord watching her every move, you bet she’s aiming for the gold.

So with that in mind she reminds her best friends that she does have a life as a fellow student of Elsewhere, annoying and deadly stalker or not, and she _really_ needs to get to the rink, so while she appreciates the hospitality and promises to pay them back… she needs to leave.

And so she does. Packs up her things, exchanges them at her apartment for her skates and a fresh pair of clothes, and leaves all whispers and following eyes behind.

That’s what leads her to arriving at the rink at 7 in the morning to find a very familiar and very much Human girl (and a just as familiar and very much Not-Human Lady, with beady red eyes and blue-tinted skin) stood upon the ice, engaged in a conversation.

Doesn’t look like a conversation that’s all too pleasant, though that’s par for the course in most dealings Them.

But… something’s awfully _off_ about this conversation, she notes. The way the girl seems to close in on herself, how that Lady crowds over her, how the girl looks pale and scared and very much not in control…

 _“It’s wrong,”_ she thinks and, oh fuck, suddenly she remembers where she knows that girl from.

It’s a freshman. One of the new bloods who’d just arrived that fall. Not even a legacy, a student completely new to Elsewhere and unaware of all its traps and tricks.

She can’t watch it. Doesn’t want to witness this girl get caught up in the Winter Court. (Nevermind that it’s still a month too early for them to be Above like this, that’s _extremely_ rude to Autumn…)

 _“What the fuck am I doing?”_ She thinks as she feels her body move, and suddenly she speaks.

“Excuse me, my Lady,” she steps onto the ice, forgoing her skates entirely but keeping them slung over her shoulder in a way she hopes looks casual. She makes it about halfway towards the two, then she stops. “I know it is awfully gauche of me to interrupt your dealings, but I am afraid that the Elite Figure Skating Team has the Rink reserved for these early morning hours, and I would very much like to practice my jumps before classes”.

The Lady looks up, eyeing her with eyes as red as holly berries, assessing her and looking for deceit. She settles on something that is not quite eye contact and, after a moment that is far too long… glides back and away from the freshman.

“No… it is quite alright. We are done here for now,” she speaks with a voice that sounds like smoke over ice.

She turns back towards her victim, extending a finger that is like an ice pick to touch the girl’s cheek. She flinches, the Lady smiles with far too sharp teeth.

But… she leaves. _Lords above and below, she leaves._

Or well… she leaves the girl, but stops in front of Raye, standing there silently and looking her over once again.

“Such a shame,” the Lady sighs, shaking her head and crossing her arms as she does so. “Such, such shame”.

Raye stands motionless, waiting.

“Such talent within you, little Not-Human,” she says. “Always We are looking, never allowed to Touch, to Take. Oh, the plans We had for you”.

Like before, a finger that looks more like an icicle is extended towards her face. But unlike the girl, that finger stops just a mere hair’s breadth away from her face, and she doesn’t flinch.

The Lady frowns.

“Such plans indeed,” she says. “So lovely you would have been in Our collection, Our prettiest piece yet. But We cannot ignore a Claim already made. Ah, but no matter… the girl can be trained and groomed until she is perfect. Then We shall dress her in ice and she will be Ours and happy Underhill, just like the rest”.

She refuses to breathe. Refuses to move a muscle.

Another shake of the head, another sigh. “Such shame, such shame, such shame”.

And the Lady leaves.

The silence she leaves in her wake is thick enough to be choking. The girl has sunk to her knees and stares blankly ahead of her, looking like she could break at any moment.

Raye’s steps are careful and measured when she makes her way to her side and, oh, now she _really_ recognizes this freshman. One of the up-and-coming talents that Coach has been talking about lately.

“Hey,” she says, and her voice feels wrong and sounds all too loud in this space, now. “You’re Snowdrop, aren’t you?”

The girl nods, breathing deeply through her nose and out of her mouth. Trying to ground herself. She crouches to be on her level and offers her a hand, which is promptly gripped and squeezed tightly.

“I’m Raye,” she offers, squeezing back. “You’re one of Coach’s promising new youths, aren’t you?”

Snowdrop shrugs and looks at her with a strained smile. “I guess I am? Don’t really know what Coach says about me to other people”.

That’s something she can recognize, at least. 

“We’ve all been freshmen under Coach’s tutelage”.

Silence falls between them again.

“You were there,” Snowdrop whispers. “At…. the ball-thing, last night. I… I saw you with that- that _man_ with the-”

“He is of the Gentry,” she interjects gently. “A Lord. Just like that Lady just now, the one I saw you with at the revel, too”.

A nod.

“She offered to help me out with my jumps at first,” she swallows, licks her lips. “Offered to help me with… a lot of things. Things I _knew_ Coach could teach me, but… she seemed so _nice_ , back then, so helpful and so _insistent…_ perhaps… a little too insistent, now that I think about it”.

“She does seem very forward, especially since her Court is not in season right now,” Raye agrees. “And when did she first approach you?”

Snowdrop is silent for a bit, before she answers. “I think… I think I’d been here two weeks”.

Two weeks. Since Two. Weeks. Into the semester… and nobody had noticed anything? For actual months has this kid been dealing with a Lady?

“Have you told anyone about it, beside me just now?”

A shake of the head.

A beat of silence.

Raye sighs, letting go to pat her on the head. “Oh, you poor child,” and she gets up off the ice and holds out her hand once more. “Come with me. Let’s see if we can’t figure out a solution for you”.

The hand that wraps around hers is pale and thin and shaking… but the grip is firm, and she does her very best to convey strength and support back.

There is no skating done that day.

* * *

She takes Snowdrop to her apartment. It’s the safest place she can think of at the moment, with all of its crystals and salt and iron hidden in the things she’s created.

Snowdrop stops just beyond the entrance and _stares._ Raye supposes that it can’t be helped - it is a bit of a clutterfest.

But well… she _is_ Else. Is just that little bit more gentry than Human. She covets and collects pretty things, valuable things, gathering them around her home until there is only just enough surface space for her to study, cook, and eat.

She has Snowdrop sit in front of her bathroom mirror while she brings in box after box of forcely abandoned iron hair ornaments (as well as a lot of the yarrow and hazel ones that she thought lost to the ether… hmm…) for them to look through together. 

So… her hair ornaments. The ones she can no longer wear, because a _certain someone_ can just bypass them anyways, and really what’s the point in trying then?

Snowdrop’s hair is red. A beautiful deep shade that leads her mind to thoughts of red jasper and carnelians (rather delicious stones, in her humble opinion) and the light of the setting sun. 

“We need something that will work well with all of these curls,” she comments, laying out several options, she thinks might work, on the countertop. “Something simple, yet elegant, that will go with everything you wear”.

“Why are you doing this?” Snowdrop asks, looking at her through the mirror. “Why would you potentially cross a Lady of Winter for a stranger?”

Raye hums to herself as she thinks. Why indeed? There is no doubt in her mind that she is going to majorly piss off a Lady of Winter by doing this. Pissing off a Lady of Winter, especially now that they’re soon to be in power, is not a smart move.

But here’s the thing. For all that she should know not to cross a Lady of Winter, she doesn’t want to see this child get Taken. This is an 18, maybe 19, year old teenager. She’s only a few years older than this girl, but she was born into Legacies, learned the Rules before she could even talk.

~~_Not to mention the fact that she’s pretty sure there’s a fox that she doesn’t want in her corner that has settled into that corner very firmly. It’s proven by the warmth of the clip still keeping her hair swept to the side._ ~~

“Don’t worry about me,” she decides to answer, gently pulling at Snowdrop’s hair. “I’m too Else for them to deal with anyways”.

“The Lady called you Not-Human,” Snowdrop confirms. “Is… did you make a deal with Someone to be like that? Or did Real Raye get stolen?”

That earns the girl a slight flick to her ear, but she smiles at her. “Watch it, freshman, or I won’t be as gentle with your hair,” to demonstrate she twists the hair in her hands to suit the shape she needs. Snowdrop winces, and she loosens her grip just enough for it to not hurt. “No, how do I explain… I was born but seconds after my brother, much quicker than should perhaps be possible… to a father who is Human, and a mother who is Other…”

By the time the extremely abbreviated and complicated story of her life is complete, Snowdrop’s hair has been turned into a beautifully braided bun held in place by her once-favorite set of iron hairpins.

“I don’t know if they will do all that much,” she admits after they’re both done admiring the hairstyle in the mirror. “But they should give you a bit more oomph than those little washers they hand out”.

Snowdrop gets up, and when she turns around she looks down (kid is a full head taller than her) and grasps her hands. “How can I ever- I can’t offer you anything as valuable in return”.

Raye is sorely tempted to say “freely given” and call it a day, but… that’s too generous, she knows. Yet this freshman has nothing to give that she could ever want, she knows this. She’d just wanted to step in and help.

Wanted to give support that she knew a lot of other students needed, but couldn’t get.

Then it hits her.

“How about this: let’s call this me paying it forward”.

“Paying it forward?”

She nods. “There will come a day where you come upon another student - any student, doesn’t have to be one from the figure skating team - who needs help. A scared freshman, much too deep in to get out. Maybe a junior or a sophomore or a senior who’s gotten a little too lax with their protections. On that day, I want you to do what I’ve done for you today: take them aside, make sure they’re okay, _help them._ Give them guidance, give them something to protect them, give them comfort and support. There’s no time-limit on this, just step in and reach out a hand to someone who needs it. Can you do that for me?”

A moment or two pass. Then Snowdrop gives a little smile and nods.

“Yeah… yeah, I can do that. I will definitely do that”.

She smiles back and pats her on the shoulder. “Then there is no debt between us”.

Snowdrop leaves two hours and a cup of tea later, but not before insisting on getting a different name to call Raye by.

“It’s fine if you just call me Raye,” she argues, but Snowdrop insists.

“I have different names for everyone,” she says determinedly. “A unique name for them, a unique name for me. ‘Snowdrop’ is my general name, but I have many others. Thought it would protect me better in the long run”.

Raye, for all that her Human-half thinks that is a silly mindset, is Else enough that she thinks it’s also absolute genius and that it would have worked if the Lady of Winter had not been so shrewd.

“Then call me Senpai,” she offers, and shrugs. “And I can call you Kouhai, just to be a complete cliché and stereotypical”.

Snowdrop laughs, but in-between the laughter she says “deal”, and so that becomes their names.

Later the next day, when she meets up with Coach for practice, the woman will shake her head at her and push her into accepting responsibility and being the new assistant coach for the entirety of their newbie team, declaring “if you want to take responsibility, then you need to do it properly”.

But for that night she sleeps soundly, even with the knowledge that a Lady of Winter most likely now wants her head on a platter.

And in her dreams she skates upon a frozen lake in the twilight, a Lord watching her from the banks and laughing gleefully.

* * *

_Later in the week she will also realize that there are, indeed, side effects when something Else - not matter how little or how much Human blood is in them - eats Fae Food._

_She finds out when she suddenly has the strongest cravings for apricots and fills her cupboards with everything apricot flavored, from cookies to juice to jam and sodas._

_God. Damn. Gentry!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Raye's dad is actually Japanese-British, and Raye and her Brother grew up knowing just as many Eastern legends and customs as Western. I've just been terrible at actually communicating that in the story. Hence why Raye asks to be called "Senpai".
> 
> Guys, I am blown away at all the sweet comments on the last chapter, thank you so much! I even got art, look at this amazing interpretation of Raye's dress by Morvaine/@bethany69esda on tumblr! https://bethany69esda.tumblr.com/post/621411865666437120/aurora-dress-based-off-of-nordictwin-elsewhere
> 
> No Foxglove in this chapter. Not directly. I intended for there to be an interaction with him and Raye, but I decided to start with that in the next chapter instead.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it ^_^


	7. Of Claims and Merry Hunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fucking. Fox-faced. Fae".
> 
> It is a rather rude awakening to receive, when the Lord who's been following you reveals that he's the only reason why you've spent the past few years at Elsewhere in relative peace.
> 
> Or: some things are revealed, while others yet remain in mystery. Raye just really wants some peace and quiet.

On the 7th night following the Samhain revel he approaches her again. 

Since that night she’s been dreaming of a frozen lake, beautifully surrounded by crooked and twisted trees, their leaves and branches dyed silver and blue in the light of the stars high above her.

The ice is a perfect mirror and she feels as though she is gliding through space itself. Clad in a simple training outfit, she is the only other person around.

She feels… free. There is just her and the singing ice as she leaps and spins and flies.

_If only this lake was not Underhill._

She’s _not quite_ Underhill, and she’s _not quite_ dreaming. She’s not sure how she knows this, however. It’s like an instinct, knowing what is and isn’t Underhill and what is and isn’t Above.

So far, however, she’s been left alone, and thus she indulges herself and skates. She doesn’t need music, doesn’t need pretty dresses and adoring audiences.

She just is.

It’s all ruined when she hears hurried steps on the ice, almost right behind her. It’s more warning than he’s ever given her.

Raye _tries_ to get away. She tries. She sets off away from him, pushing herself to gain just that little bit more speed.

Of course it doesn’t work. She just can’t ever win against him.

He lets her get about halfway to the nearest bank. Then there are hands on hers and she’s spun up and around to face him, then lifted off the ice and… swung around in a circle?

_What is going on?_

“Haha… hahahahaha!”

Foxglove laughs. Not the mocking or demeaning laughter she’s come to know from all the times he’s laughed at her.

He’s just laughing. Loud, booming, downright _joyful_ laughter.

“Aaahahaha! Glorious! Absolutely glorious!” He crows, lifting her up above his head like she’s just a plush toy and he is a child delighted with a new gift. The grin on his face as he looks up at her is triumphant.

“There was _she_ ,” he narrates, laughter still in his eyes. “A Duchess of the Winter Court, a figure mortals should rightfully fear. And there- there were _you_ ,” he cuts himself off to laugh again for a few moments “small, tiny, _insignificant_ you. Standing toe to toe with her, only alive because you are too dangerous for them to kill, and you just _don’t know it._ Interfering! All but _stumbling_ your way into taking responsibility for that little slip of a girl! Hahahaha!”

She’s spun around once more, and she is utterly and completely lost. That… that Lady had been a _Duchess?_ She’s too _dangerous_ to kill? What?

_Why is he so happy about this? What’s with all the damn spinning?!_

“Glorious! Magnificent!” He crows once more, and this time she finds herself sat on his arm like she weighs nothing at all to him, face to face, and the smile on his face is probably the most real one he’s ever given her.

_No… that’s not quite right. She thinks she’s seen this expression just the week before… only it was obscured by that mask he wore._

“You are glorious,” those shifting eyes of his seems to shine as he looks at her “and you have caused me _so much trouble_ by doing that. A cross-court political nightmare!”

He grins again, all sharp teeth and Not-Human, more Fox than Man than Gentry.

Altogether _Goblin._

“How wonderfully Goblin of you!” 

She blinks at him. He’s the happiest she’s ever seen him and, quite frankly, it’s frightening her a little.

Is he drunk?

“Are… are you alright?”

“What’s with that expression?” He snorts, but the grin never leaves his face. “I’m perfectly fine, everything is wonderful. You’ve antagonized someone powerful in Winter and now I have to deal with it”.

She blinks again. “Me pissing off a Duchess is… a good thing?”

“Gods no. It’s horribly bothersome to handle, a huge mess you’ve left the Goblin Court to deal with,” he looks very much like he wants to pinch her cheek, but doesn’t. “But we of the Goblin Court love making messes and causing trouble for the other Courts. Well done, Seudag”.

“It’s not your obligation to deal with the messes I get myself into, though,” she frowns, trying to figure out _why_ he would find it a good thing. 

And how to get herself out of this _massive_ debt he’s forcing her into. 

“Isn’t it?” He asks her (and what is _that_ supposed to mean?), and there is that enigmatic expression again. He finally puts her down, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Right below the hair clip he gifted her. “Dance with me, Seudag”.

She presses her lips tightly together and narrows her eyes at him. And because she’s feeling particularly annoyed with him and stupidly brave right now she looks up at him and dares to refuse him. “I think I had quite enough of dancing with you at the revel last week, Lord Foxglove. Besides, I never cared much for having a dance partner”.

Yet more laughter. She thinks he might well be crying from laughing so hard. “So bold, so fierce!” His hands fall on her shoulders and he tilts his head, looking down at her, and ah, _there_ is that damnable smirk. “Who said you had a choice?”

As she’s pulled into a slow waltz upon the ice (she doesn’t want to know who taught him skating) she glares up at him. “Well, maybe I _should!_ Ever since you approached me, I’ve never once held the cards”.

He snorts at her. “You’re being ridiculous again”.

He leans down to look into her eyes. _“Who said you were ever a player?”_

Oh, she _hates_ him. 

“And what, pray tell, am I if not a player?” She spits out through gritted teeth, to which his eyes just light up as he smiles indulgently and says:

“Why, Seudag, didn’t you know? You’re the _prize”_.

And oh, how she _fears_ him. 

She swallows. Fights against her desire to bolt. “In which game?” She feels like she already knows the answer. 

“A game of tag,” he purrs, running a finger down her cheek. “A merry little _Hunt_ , if you will. And _I_ am the one who is _It,_ Precious thing. Have been since you enrolled at that little University”.

She bows her head a fraction - not quite submitting, not quite standing her ground - and she hates herself for how it makes him smile in satisfaction, watching her act the prey. 

But the words of the Duchess of Winter echo in her mind, and she is barely keeping herself together as it is. 

**_“We cannot ignore a Claim already made”_ ** she had said. Though Raye had suspected who she referred to, it’s still terrifying to get it confirmed. 

“That’s a rather long time to have been chasing an unknowing victim”.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Surely you didn’t think that you measly little protections and blood-status were what kept you safe, Little One?”

She can’t answer that. Not that he lets her, as he stops the dance and leans closer, closer, _closer,_ until his breath brushes against her lips and all she can see is how his eyes seem to glow and draw her in. 

“ _Surely_ you didn’t think that an _athlete,_ a legacy at that, could be safe for so long with just a few pieces of iron and a little salt, or whatever silly amulets you carry? You, with your mixed blood and so much _talent_ and _elegance_ that you could rival the daughters of the Elven Kings of the North?”

Raye has some very foolish thoughts of headbutting him to wipe that stupid smirk off of his _stupid,_ inhuman face.

 _(It’s all very strange, really. These violent emotions he provokes in her, that she has never felt before. These violent tremors going down her spine and sending her heart racing. She does not know if these are Fae or Human levels of emotion, but she would very much like them to_ **_stop._ ** _)_

In any case… she doesn’t want to answer his questions, because she very much does not want to admit that she actually _had_ thought it was enough. That she had, somehow, managed to make herself seem just Human or Gentry enough that neither side would pay her too much attention. She knows she hasn’t really succeeded with the humans - that she still comes off as too Else for them to easily accept - with the mortals, but she has remained unaware of what the Gentry think of her.

Apparently she’s very interesting. Oh joy.

And the only reason she’s been left alone is because one of the Goblin Court has had his eyes on her for actual years. Oh. _JOY._

“Regardless,” she tries to say nonchalantly, tries to keep her cool, even though he is still much too close for comfort. “What makes your little- your _little Hunt_ ” and she has to fight back sour bile as she utters the words “so worth it that you would go against the Winter Court? Are you not allied?”

He laughs airily under his breath. It smells like autumn leaves and frost in the air. “Oh, but that’s the thing, Seudag… the Goblin Court is allied with Everyone, thus we are loyal to No One. We do as we see fit, depending on how the seasons benefit us… and right now, it is _very_ much to my benefit to keep _you_ alive and Winter away. Had it happened just a few weeks later from now, when we’re more closely allied with Winter than Autumn… that would’ve been another story”.

…….she doesn’t get it. She just. Doesn’t. Get it.

She sighs and slumps over, as much as he will allow her. Interacting with him is exhausting, as infuriating as he is. She feels a dull pain gathering behind her eyes.

“And what, exactly, is so beneficial to you about me that you deliberately want to keep me alive? Are you in that much need for something pretty to look at?”

 _“Why are you Hunting me?”_ Is what she wants to ask, but she can’t get the words past her lips.

He leans back, and when he smiles it is all sharp teeth and pinprick pupils set in almost-ice blue and budding spring green. 

_Then the bastard boops her nose._

“That is for me to know and for you to find out at a later date,” he informs her. “But for now, I would very much like to have something pretty and talented on my arm during the coming Winter Revels”.

The answer is almost instinctive. “Hell no”.

He wags a finger at her. “Ah ah ah, Seudag. You know what nobody says: a little Foxglove a day keeps Winter away”.

She _really_ wants to punch him for that _heinous_ joke and the butchering of that proverb. Even more so for the reminder of how deeply indebted she suddenly finds herself to him.

_Again._

“I never asked you to step in for me, _My Lord_ ,” she hisses at him.

“And yet here we are,” he tilts his head to the side as he looks at her. “So that leaves the question: will you join me, or do we have to figure out another payment plan?”

He raises his hand and a spherical crystal appears in his hand with a sharp pop. He spins it around her hands and smirks. “I’d say you’d have to pay a pretty high price for such a favor. _Name_ value or higher, I’d wager, hmm?”

Raye has to very calmly take a good few deep breaths and stop herself from cursing out a Lord.

 _Or jumping at him and going for his throat with a skate._ (It could work as a knife, right? Probably.)

She looks up at him and offers her best, compliant smile, and manages to say in a voice that is sickeningly pleasant, the like she has never used since her solitary week of working at the local Wal-Mart: “When can I be expected to join you, _Lord Foxglove_?”

“Oh, you know, Precious… when you least expect it and when it is most certainly inconvenient to you”.

He has the nerve to wink and smirk at her.

Then she promptly wakes up.

It take her a moment to realize where she is, when she’s suddenly not looking up at her benefactor/stalker/supposed protector, but instead up at the silk tapestry that Pearls had gifted and she’d hung on her wall.

She blinks. Rolls onto her back and covers her face with her hands, all while cursing how this has become her fate.

“Fucking. Fox-faced. Fae”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say about this chapter, except Foxglove is a shifty little prick and I love him so much. I also had to rewrite their interactions about three times before I wrote something that felt right. My other two attempts will be repurposed and used for later chapters, but for now the result was something a little playful and a little infuriating all at once. I've also been really excited to introduce Raye's frozen lake, as it's one of the first locations I thought up for this story :)
> 
> Raye is in trouble. Oh boy, is she in trouble. But what kind is it this time?
> 
> I am once again blown away by your comments and speculations. It's one of the best things about posting a new chapter, so thank you so much everyone 😊  
> I came back from a two week vacation last Saturday, so if anybody's wondered about a slight delay between chapters (not that I have a schedule), that's why. Did absolutely nothing other than bike and walk and have good food for two weeks - just the way I like it. Unfortunately, also had to say goodbye to my grandmother, but she is in a better place now and was sent off with more love than she would ever know what to do with.
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for reading! See you guys next time!


	8. A Disaster in the Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This kid might be what drives her to drinking. She can just tell.
> 
> Raye has new responsibilities. Her first day on the job thankfully doesn't end in disaster, but... trouble is brewing on the horizon, and the calls from Underhill come ever closer.

Raye regrets a lot of things.

She regrets not bringing along some of her brother’s constructions when she first entered EU campus. (They would’ve made for good bargaining chips in deals… or extra protection).

She regrets not having the guts to tell Foxglove to fuck off. (Though she doubts it would’ve worked…)

Perhaps most importantly… 

She regrets ever agreeing to do this for Coach.

In front of her are seven freshmen. Young, hopeful, all fresh faced and optimistic and still so very innocent.

Not.

One of them is Snowdrop (or rather, her Kouhai now). There’s still an exhausted and nervous slump to her entire stance - shaken from the ordeal with the Duchess, most likely. But her red hair is somewhat tamed and tied up with Raye’s gift, and knowing what Foxglove told her, well… that Duchess is probably going to keep her distance for the time being.

Five of them are plain faced and rather ordinary looking, aside from a few minor things. Three of them are called a variation of Wren according to the sheet she’s been given (Happy Wren, Spotted Wren, and Winter Wren), and two have named themselves Elisa and Anne, who… yeah, she’s going to have to have _words_ with those two later, might help them make less dumb decisions and pick some better names.

(And maybe a better hobby or field, because she’s not sure if competitive figure skating at Elsewhere U. is the right choice for these two, no matter how talented as they are… call it elitism, but anyone doing professional figure skating at E.U. and choosing to name themselves after Disney’s quote-unquote “ice princesses”? No, just no.)

And then, of course, there’s… well… there’s the _transfer._

The kid in front of her is a student-to-be coming from some other mundane university up north (Raye hadn’t bothered to research it) with a decent figure skating programme, but already he oozes arrogant confidence, looking like he thinks he owns the place as he stands there with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, and for the love of all the eldritch beings hiding in the shadows she’s can already feel the headache coming in and he hasn’t even spoken a word yet.

_This kid might be what drives her to drinking. She can just tell._

Still… she’s got a job to do and a responsibility to them.

“Alright, you lot!” She straightens her back and tries to look as intimidating and authoritative as possible, despite all of these children being a good deal taller than her. “It would appear that Coach believes that she’s no longer sufficient to act as the trainer for Elsewhere University’s figure skating team, which is why from now on you’ll be spending two sessions a week with me doing some collective training”.

She glances down at her clipboard to reassure herself that she knows the schedule… and also ensure that she’s following the careful script she planned (because one thing is being better at speaking in front of her friends and with her stalker, another is speaking in front of a group of strange freshmen). 

The Wrens and Snowdrop stand at attention immediately, but the Disney-duo murmurs something between them and the Transfer just… looks at her. Paying attention, yet not.

_Great._

“When you’re here with me, you’ll be working on really perfecting those jumps, turns - anything, really, that Coach has told you needs more practice in your one-on-one sessions with her. Me being here is honestly just to ensure that you’re actually getting that practice in and, if needed, offer advice and examples, etc. etc. yadda yadda yadda”.

Raye looks up again and briefly turns to the transfer student, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I can see here that we’ve got an incoming transfer visiting us for the time being. Welcome to E.U., I assume you’ve been taught the rules of the campus already?”

The boy seems to almost _preen_ at the attention. “I have! And can I just say what an absolutely honor and pleasure it is to-”

She cuts him off with a quick raise of her hand and turns back to her clipboard, pen raised and ready. “Yeah, no time for that, just tell me your name so I can get it on this list here, since you’re not an official student, yet, and not part of the system. And that’s your _name_ , kid, not your Name”.

That she’s not actively looking at him doesn’t stop her from noticing that he puffs out his chest, nor does it make her deaf to the cockiness in his voice as he introduces himself.

“You can call me Gletscher! And you better prepare yourselves, because I’m going to be taking this team to new heights”.

And then he winks. He actually _winks._

.

.

.

_Oh, Lords have mercy, this kid is going to get himself killed, she just knows it._

It takes everything in her to not facepalm at his audacity. “Okaaaay, then… moving on!”

She turns back to look at the group as a whole. “Before we begin, a final introduction is in order. I’m a senior here at E.U. and from this day onward I’ll be serving as the assistant coach for the figure skating team. Now, some of you know me outside of this rink, and that’s all fine and good, but while we are in this building I expect nothing but complete and total professionalism from _all of you,_ ” she narrows her eyes at them as she speaks, trying with all her might to look tall and imposing. “My word is second only to Coach’s and trust me, I am not going to say or suggest anything that she would not approve of. Furthermore, I don’t care if any of you know me by another name - while we are in session, you are to address me as “Mentor”. Got that?” She looks up at the freshmen, not waiting for an answer, and nods once to herself. “Then let’s get started. Do some warm-up and then get working on what Coach told you to”.

* * *

Well…

Her first day as assistant coach doesn’t end in total disaster. That’s at least something.

The good thing is that Snowdrop and the Wrens all have a solid foundation and the skills to be able to make it far, earlier incident she got involved in with Snowdrop aside.

The Disney-duo are talented as well, by all means. They wouldn’t have been accepted if they weren’t. And yet… call it a hunch, but she gets the feeling that they’re talented in the wrong way. That they’re just good enough, just perfect enough, that in time they too will end up like Snowdrop almost did.

And then there’s-

“So. _Mentor_ ,” the transfer-to-be - Gletscher - comes up behind her, hands behind his head and an over-confident grin on his face that makes her skin itch and blood boil for the way that it reminds her of… of _something._ Something that is just barely out of reach. “Have to say, I didn’t expect I’d get to meet the Enigma of the Ice on my first day here. Must be my lucky day”.

She raises an eyebrow at his use of the title people outside of Elsewhere have started using for her at competitions. Rather unexpected. “Did you need something, kid?” 

He just keeps grinning, looking like he thinks he’s figured her out. And when he speaks it’s in a poor imitation of a purr. “Not right now, just wanted to once again express what a great _pleasure_ it is to get to learn from _you_ specifically. Really, truly the greatest honor to witness the workings of a true princess of the ice”.

It takes every fiber in her being to not roll her eyes at him as he, once again, goes on with the irrelevant flattery. _(And it takes even more of an effort to ignore the sudden shiver that goes down her spine as she feels eyes hone in on her from the aether)._ “Yeah, you’ve said it at least 6 times already,” Raye looks down to glance at her watch, keenly aware of its passing in that instant, to find a convenient excuse to get away. “Look, kid. I’m busy, so did you actually need anything from me? Don’t you have classes to sit in on or something?”

“Oh, don’t be so cold. I just wanted to chat, after all it’s not every day you get to speak to _the_ R-”

And a.

Switch.

_Is._

**_Flipped._ **

She will never really be able to properly explain the feeling of what happens. All she can really say is that one moment she’s something-Else-but-Human… and the next, she’s something **_Else._ **

“You have a lot of _nerve…_ **_don’t you?_ **”

The voice that comes out of her mouth is hers, and yet it sounds foreign to her ears, and the words feel strange in her mouth for all that they feel so perfectly _right._

The foolish little Human stops in his tracks. She notices a barely-there flinch that she already knows he will always deny ever happened.

Hmm… good. He _should_ flinch, he _should_ fear her.

~~He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, this line of thinking is _dangerous_ when she’s not (yet) a lady what is she _doing?!_~~

The way she tilts her head _just so,_ to regard the boy in front of her - like something merely playing at being human (and that’s what she really is, isn’t she?) - feels almost unnatural to her, and yet… also exactly right. She can almost _feel_ the gears in her head turn differently, but it unsettles her much less than it probably should.

Quite the contrary, really - it doesn’t unsettle her at all. And when she smiles it is all teeth, sharp enough to cut through diamonds and certainly no match for delicate, human flesh.

“I don’t recall ever giving you permission to use my Name, Little Boy. Much less in these Halls”.

(Eyes follow her from behind her. She can feel them on her skin, tracking her every movement, and some deeply suppressed side of her shivers in delight. Good, yes, good - she wants those eyes to look at her).

~~_(She doesn’t she doesn’t go away go away don’t look at me don’t look at me.)_ ~~

“Well, I just thought-”

“You thought _wrong,_ Little Boy,” and when she tilts her head up to regard him she is looking _down_ instead. “Here’s a word of advice, freely given. You would do well to remember the Rules of this place, and remember them well, or you will most certainly end up in serious trouble. So I will not say this again: do not speak my Name - to you I am Mentor, and nothing else”.

She sees not the guarded looks Snowdrop shares with the Wrens and hears not her whispered words, sees not how the Disney-duo trembles, sees not the way her shadow grows long and her eyes swirl and glow, and she _certainly_ doesn’t see the figure hiding in the shadows, standing next to a white fox with ever-changing eyes, watching her with bated breath (and does not see that figure leave when the fox _grins_ and fluffs up his fur, pleased at what he sees).

All she sees is how that boy takes a step back away from her, audibly swallowing, and finds herself calling him “prey” in her mind.

It’s enough to break her out of that trance, out of that high, of being something Else, something _more,_ and not caring about trivial things such as acting _Human._

“Remember the Rules, kid,” she says, breathing deeply. “They’re there for a reason. If you’re not inclined to do so, then I can assure you that Elsewhere University is not the place for you”.

And then she turns on her heel and walks off.

(From the shadows and at a distance, the fox follows).

* * *

_“Kouhai, a word”._

_“Mentor?”_

_“You can call me Senpai for now, I’m going to speak to you as a friend and not as assistant-coach”._

_“What’s up?”_

_“Remember how I talked about paying things forward when we met? I want to cash in on that already”._

_“With who?”_

_“That transfer kid”._

_“What about him?”_

_“I want you to keep an eye on him. He’s talented, but cocky… he’s going to be in big trouble, I just know it”._

_“So what… I’m going to be his babysitter?”_

_“I know it’s a lot, but… please, Kouhai? He’s my responsibility, I know, but I can’t watch him all the time”._

_“..........I’ll see what I can do”._

_“You’re a lifesaver, Kouhai. I shouldn’t say it, but… thank you. Truly”._

Here’s the thing. Snowdrop had _known_ that Raye - that Senpai - wasn’t quite Human. Even before she had found herself in the senior’s bathroom and wearing gifted iron in her hair, hearing the story of the twin half-bloods (the Something and the Else), she had seen the _Enigma of the Ice_ \- one of the brightest stars of their time in the figure skating scene - and known there was something _different_ about her. Something ethereal, something _more._

And yet it catches her off-guard when Senpai’s entire being _shifts_ before her eyes, and suddenly she knows why there’s a Lord hovering around her.

Because that is not a Human telling off that transfer student. That is a Lady. A Lady more fearsome than the one who now haunts her nightmares, and certainly much more powerful.

_And Snowdrop will wager a guess that she has no idea._

“We’re being taught by a Lady,” she finds herself whispering to the Wrens, trying very hard not to run away. “We’re being taught by a Lady, and she is totally oblivious to it - mercy be on that poor fool’s soul if he ever offends her enough to realize it”.

The Wrens say nothing. There is nothing to say. And when Lady-Mentor-Senpai-Raye leaves, so do they.

Well… the Wrens and those two other girls leave. She stays behind, standing with the transfer student - Gletscher - because cocky prick or not, someone needs to make sure he’s not traumatized.

“You okay there?”

He’s shaking.

“That- that was-”

“Hmm?”

_“That was so hot”._

Oh, god no.

 _“Dude, NO,”_ and she cannot stress that “no” enough. “Don’t even think about it, it will _not_ end well”.

He has the guts to snort at that. He just faced what would most certainly be his own doom, and he has the guts to snort in her face.

_What the fuck is this guy’s deal, and why does he have a deathwish?_

“I mean, I already came here with the intention of getting her number,” Gletscher shrugs and looks at her like this line of thinking is totally normal (and maybe it is, outside of freaking _Elsewhere,_ she’s kind of lost all understanding of what is normal and what isn’t), and not _incredibly_ creepy. “So she’s being a little hard-to-get and sticking to you guys’ strange rules… but hey, I can work with that”.

Snowdrop feels her spirit leave her body, and she wonders if this is how Senpai felt when Coach roped her into helping out with their little branch of the team.

“Dude… she couldn’t be more out of your league, _and_ she’s a senior. She’s obligated to think we’re worth shit”.

(A small fib, Senpai probably values all of their lives higher than anything else).

“That just makes it more challenging!”

It takes every bit of willpower she’s got to not slap her hand against her face and scream. Instead she breathes out - slowly, heavily, controlled - and grits her teeth.

Going to get himself killed, indeed.

Suddenly she has an idea for a name for him.

“Whatever, _Darwin_ ”.

He blinks, and the annoyance in his expression is on full display. “My name is Gletscher”.

It’s her turn to snort, shrug and look at him like what she’s doing is normal. “Deal with it, buddy, I call everyone by different names and they do the same to me in return”.

Somehow they start walking away from the rink together.

“What can I call you, then?”

“Huxley,” she says, and it comes out as naturally as if it was the obvious answer… huh, maybe it is.

After all… if she’s naming him for the _Darwin Awards,_ and she’s going to be his wrangler, she might as well name herself after a student of Darwin.

She sighs.

“I have a feeling the two of us are going to be _good friends_ ”.

The last part is spoken through gritted teeth and a pained smile, but she ignores the confusion in his eyes, opting instead to focus on the feeling that she might have just sealed her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been awhile. And I can't tell you guys how good it feels to be back, and how much I've been cherishing all of your comments ❤  
> When I last updated, I was still neck-deep in writing my thesis. I am now happy to announce that I have not only finished my thesis, I've also passed it and have now graduated university! I am now the proud owner of a Master's Degree in English Studies 🎉 It ended with a C that I am very proud of, since I barely slept more than 2 hours in 48 hours to finish the damn thing at 3:30 in the morning... and then I slept for 5 hours and went to build furniture with a friend who had just moved into a new apartment. Good times!  
> Since then, I have also been occupied with a lot of IRL stuff - graduating means entering the world of unemployment, as well as informing all sorts of important people about it. It also means I've had to move out of my apartment, since it was a "students only" building, which I've been doing this weekend - so there's also been all of that to deal with.
> 
> TL;DR, I've been busy as all hell these past three months, but things are finally starting to calm down. 
> 
> On top of that, this chapter was also incredibly difficult to write at times, but I finally found a good angle. And of course I never got around to writing the parts I thought would be in this chapter, so they'll have to be in the next one. (Can you believe I thought this would be 3 chapters long? Crazy).
> 
> Anyways, introducing Snowdrop's new "best friend" and local, cocky prick - let's hear a round of polite applause for Gletscher! An oblivious asshole who's convinced he's the hottest guy in town who can get any girl he wants. (Spoilers: he can't, and he'll learn that the hard way). He's extremely difficult to write, but he's got a purpose for future story ideas that will focus on Snowdrop's life at Elsewhere. That's for after this story is finished, though. It's also why I changed the format a little and put the spotlight on Snowdrop for a bit here - setting up the dynamic of her and Gletscher, as well as some of their off-screen shenanigans.
> 
> (If anyone has any ideas for what I should call the "Something Else" universe when it becomes a series, please feel free to share, because I have no ideas whatsoever.)
> 
> On a final note, because I keep meaning to mention it and always forget: as some of you might know already, I have a tumblr ! So if you have any other questions or want to know more about the characters and all that, feel free to send an ask at:  
> https://nordictwin.tumblr.com
> 
> Once again, thank you so much to all of you guys who have read, commented, and left kudos - I appreciate all of them!
> 
> (P.S.: if anyone wonders why Snowdrop chose the names "Darwin" and "Huxley": as briefly explained in the story, it's because Gletscher is a nominee for a Darwin Award just by breathing, and T.H. Huxley was a student of Charles Darwin... and Huxley taught H.G. Wells in college, and I've just spent about a year writing almost 62 about Wells and George Orwell. It's a name I'll never forget.)


	9. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello, my Sprite”.  
> “.........hello to you too, Mother”.
> 
> In which a Mother visits her Child and more questions arise.

About half-way through November she gets an unexpected visitor.

One moment she’s alone in a room in the art building, trying to figure out what to do with a particularly stubborn piece of sandstone that will not cooperate with her (she’s on the verge of threatening to eat it if it doesn’t get its act together soon), and the next someone is standing in front of her.

She knows she should probably be used enough to Fae-fuckery by this point, Else that she is, that a person suddenly appearing where there were none before shouldn’t startle her. Nevertheless she _is_ startled by her sudden guest, embarrassing herself quite severely in the process.

The point is… she jumps in her seat, and the knife slips over the stone and into the flesh of her thumb. The thumb of the hand holding the knife, to be precise.

She curses loudly, dropping knife and rock as she scrambles to get to the sink and tissues, sparing a glance over her shoulder to at least show that she acknowledges them.

Her visitor smiles wryly, bending down to pick up the stone. It is speckled red, now, where she bled on it.

“Hello, my Sprite”.

“.........hello to you too, Mother”.

* * *

They go for a walk around campus. 

Raye buys them both coffee from a little cart (one of the certified ones owned by the dining hall, not one of the… the _outside_ ones), and then they just walk aimlessly around the many, many paths. Avoiding the ones where the water from the sprinklers run across, naturally, and around many little gardens and hiding places she didn’t even know existed.

“I hear you’ve been getting along with a nice young Lord”.

She grimaces at the question. Of course her Mother would know about that. Mother knows everything, afterall. 

“There’s nothing _nice_ about him, and I am _not_ getting along with him,” she growls, all but spitting at the mere insinuation that that bastard could be anything but a constant source of grief and anxiety in her life. 

Her Mother hums under her breath. “Are you not?”

“Of course I’m not!” Her hackles rise, and she allows herself to be angry in that moment - to let out some of the frustrations that she would rather aim at Foxglove, but cannot for fear of retribution. Deep down she knows he will probably hear this, but it is frankly his own fault for spying on her. (Nevermind that she cannot hear the scuttling feet that usually accompany his gaze on her person). “He keeps on forcing me into being more and more indebted to him. The first time I met him he gave me a crystal to view my dreams as a supposed ‘gift’ of thanks for dancing for him, and I was just practising! It was in no way worthy of such a thing - not a fair deal! Not to mention tricking me into eating that _stupid_ apricot and now I can’t go a day without wanting one!”

“He took you dancing, though,” her Mother gently interrupts her, voice as soothing and warm as she remembers it from childhood, calming her grievances and irritations when living as an Else among Humans got too much. “The whispers say that he plans on doing it again”.

It works, though only little.

“He took me to a _revel_ against my will,” she tries very hard to keep her voice even. “I was surrounded by _royalty,_ all alone, trapped at his mercy. And he’ll do it again - trapping me in revels all winter. He’s- he’s got this _claim_ on me, has been watching me _all the time I’ve been here_ ”.

It is in moments like these that she wishes she could have been a Human. A completely ordinary Human with ordinary, Human parents. Because her Mother tilts her head to the side and asks, with a soft almost dreamy smile:

“And is that not flattering? That he finds you worthy of such attention, precious enough to keep safe for so long with nothing in return?”

“.........Mother, I love you, and I know you are even less Human than I, but… that’s not flattering, that’s creepy”.

“Ah, but you are not Human, are you, my Sprite?”

She has nothing to say in response.

They keep walking. Their coffee stays hot, even though it’s near freezing outside. After what could have been hours, she sighs.

“Why are you here, Mother?”

It is a question she has been itching to ask and can no longer keep in. Because Mother’s visits are sporadic at best, and never at Elsewhere.

_Never_ at Elsewhere.

“Perhaps I longed to see my daughter”.

_(......Mother?)_

She frowns. “You have never visited me here before. Always in Dad and Brother’s new home”.

Mother smiles almost wistfully. “Ah. I am not exactly welcome in this place. Not since I ran afoul of one court and indebted myself to another”.

Raye grasps her cup a little more tightly, her entire body tensing at the thought of Winter _(or worse)_ being involved. “Who?”

A laugh. “Nobody you should worry about, I took care of it long before you were born”.

_(Mother, I asked you a-)_

“But you’re not welcome here? Then why visit me?”

“Curiosity, I suppose. A sudden need to see how you were doing”.

_(Mother, you’re not-)_

“You could have written me a letter”.

“Perhaps… but this time I thought I would come see you instead. Since you might be stolen away from me soon”.

She tenses. Grits her teeth. “I’m not going to be stolen away”.

_(Mother, why do you-)_

And there’s that strange smile again, and an unreadable shimmer in her eyes. “That young Lord is investing quite a lot of time in you, is he not?”

She scoffs. “He’s Hunting me for his own amusement. Tormenting me. I’m just a plaything that he’ll surely get bored of once I’m broken”.

“The Good Neighbors are very good at that,” her Mother agrees. “And I am certain that he is amused by this Hunt of his, but… I am not so sure that he will bore of you”.

She turns her head. Looks at Mother. Doesn’t speak. 

And Mother just.

Keeps. 

_Smiling._

“What do you know?” She demands. Mother or not, she’s getting really sick of these little mind-games that the Gentry seems to enjoy playing with her.

“Oh, I know nothing of worth”.

_(Mother, will you just-!)_

Raye almost believes that. Her Mother is Other enough, is Gentry enough, that lying is not a thing that she can do.

But that she says she knows nothing of worth doesn’t mean that she knows _nothing._ And what Mother sees as “nothing of worth” might be very valuable to Raye.

“Don’t you think I should be the one to decide if it’s nothing of worth when it’s about me?”

“Hmm… all in due time, my Sprite”.

_(Mother…!)_

She drains the last of her coffee and crushes the tepid cardboard just to get _some_ outlet for her frustration. “I’m starting to get sick of you Gentry and all of your secrets”.

Mother just sighs and pats her on the back. “Oh, my sweet Daughter… it’s just that they’re not my secrets to tell”.

She stops in the middle of the path. An area she identifies as being somewhat behind the library - a safe space to speak of secrets. “Is there really nothing you can tell me?”

Mother hums again, tilts her head to the side. Then she shakes her head.

“It would be overstepping bounds that are not mine to cross. I’m sorry”.

_“No you’re not,"_ a deeply buried part of Raye whispers, though it is largely deafened by the parts that do not wish to be angry with Mother.

She sighs.

“I need to get back to working on my project,” she says, trying very hard not to sound sullen. In an act of goodwill, she accepts the embrace her Mother offers her. “It was good to see you again,” she speaks, pouring all of her honesty and love into the words.

“Take care, my sweetest child,” Mother says. And then she lets go, and just like that she is gone.

_(Mother… won’t you please just answer my questions?)_

* * *

She returns to the art room.

The sandstone is still on the table where Mother put it, along with her tools. The time on the clock on the wall says she’s only been gone about 10 minutes, even though their walk took them around the majority of campus.

She lifts it and tilts it in the light. The surface is still red where she bled on it and appears to have sunk into the stone itself instead of drying up, giving its natural orange colour a peculiar hue - glittering and ruby-like, almost.

It reminds her oddly of a-

Raye narrows her eyes. She gets the distinct feeling that someone’s messing with her. Even so, she picks up her knives and files and sandpaper and gets to work. All of a sudden the damn thing wants to cooperate with her.

The resulting sandstone-apricot is a relatively simple piece by her standards - she’s certainly created much more impressive things before - but there’s something pretty about it still, with its shiny surface and how she’s cut it to look like the core is exposed.

That doesn’t stop her from snapping a handful of photos to show her professor for extra credit, and then promptly shoving the entire thing into her mouth and crunching down on it with a fierce vengeance.

It tastes just like apricots when it’s not supposed to (this variation of the stone _should_ taste like a mild chili-spice mix under normal circumstances) and the texture is eerily smooth when it usually crumbles like a sugarcube between her teeth, and she seethes with the audacity of it all.

How dare he do this to her.

She hears faint footsteps all around her, and she glares into all the corners of the room.

“Mess with my stones again, Foxglove,” she hisses around chewing up the stupid thing. “And I swear you’ll regret it”.

(The Lord in question watches her from Underground, and while he may laugh hysterically, he files this incident away as something to never do again. Better not to push his luck).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! I hope you're all staying safe, warm, and finding a way to enjoy the festive season while remaining mindful of everything going on.
> 
> I don't have much to say, except that this chapter is dedicated to all of you who have been speculating about Raye's mother in the comments. Take this as official confirmation that she's actively involved in this mess.   
> Also, the last section in particular is dedicated to xDirewolfx, who asked me some chapters ago about how Raye handles her gems and stones in terms of taste and what they might compare to in terms of real food. I hope you enjoyed Raye being very displeased about how that sandstone tastes XD
> 
> Will say that I have been wanting to write this visit for ages, now, but I kept finding more and more stuff that needed to be written first. But it's finally here, and now there are just more questions to be answered. Times are changing and Raye isn't in a position where people are willing to give them to her just yet.
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you guys for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! Once again, happy holidays and happy new year - please stay safe, don't get blown up by fireworks, and I'll see you with a new chapter in 2021 ^_^


	10. Crystal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heed the call of Underhill, though sweetly does it sound.  
> The webs of Lords and Ladies, are ever tightly bound.  
> Child of Dawn be wary, the clock goes tock and tick.  
> The seasons do be turning.  
> So be clever, brave, and quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for Raye's dress in this chapter: https://lacetulle.tumblr.com/post/191002723539/pamella-roland-fallwinter-2020

She is on the frozen lake once again when she next encounters Lord Foxglove.

The sky above her is an enchanting blend of deep purple and royal blue, with millions of tiny swirls of lavender and periwinkle blue and glittering diamonds speckled across it.

An endless expanse above, an endless expanse below. No sound except for the soft hiss of the blades sliding over the eyes and the whistle and crack when she leaps into the air and lands again.

There’s no rhythm or routine to what she’s doing, just enjoying the feeling of freedom it gives her. A pristine sheet of ice under her feet, a slight nip of cold in the air, and infinity all around her.

Clad as she is in a dress - pale lilac with fine ribbons of silver threaded through - she might as well disappear into the scenery. A wisp of fog or a small, shooting star.

Underhill or not… this might just very well be a little patch of paradise. Just for her.

But like the Garden of Eden, danger lurks, and when pale hands appear from behind to catch around her waist at the apex of one of her jumps, she awaits the shattering of her illusion of peace. Waits for a snide comment, a lazy drawl, maybe even his crazed laughter.

Anything.

But… nothing.

Foxglove spins her away from him, sending her further onto the ice, giving the tiniest of boosts to her momentum. Enough that she can get enough traction to do a small leap inspired by Hilda’s jumps. When she lands, the ice sings instead of cracks, and she has once again been thrown for a loop. 

She over her shoulder at him, but he is merely looking at her, expression unreadable and a hand stretched out towards her. Open and ready.

An invitation.

She breaks, stops, turns. Faces him fully.

He has yet to say a word. And suddenly the quiet around her seems deafening, oppressive, and she finds herself _missing his voice_ of all things.

“Do you have nothing to say to me?” She wonders aloud, before she can stop herself.

Foxglove’s lips curl up in a small, barely there smile, but his eyes shine with mirth.

Oh, so that’s how the bastard wants to play it. Tricking her into initiating their banter, is he?

“Come dance with me, you precious little thing”.

She slides back on her left foot, narrows her eyes at him. “Is that a request or an order?”

“Can it not be a little bit of both?” He counters, curling his fingertips ever so slightly. “Just a dance, I ask so little of you”.

“And yet I owe you much more”.

In spite of her better judgment, she skates closer to him and lets her hand slip into his, steadfastly ignoring the part of her that seems to sigh with pleasure at the contact.

His hand lands on her waist, featherlight and barely there, yet sturdy and secure enough that she knows she will not escape unless he wants her to.

And then… they dance.

It’s a dance with no beat or rhythm or pace, except the one he sets. Slow one moment, fast-paced the next. They spin and twist and leap and slide.

And…

_She’s keeping up._

As easy as if this was practiced, she follows his every move. Pushes when he pulls, moves forward when he steps back, goes limp as a ragdoll when he leads her into a wide spin and keeps him anchored when he does elaborate kicks and footwork.

Her mind just goes blank, running on instinct, and she’s dancing with a Faerie Lord and _keeping up._

“I hear you caused quite the commotion recently,” he suddenly comments during a particularly low dip.

She narrows her eyes up at him. “What does it matter to you?”

“It matters because you just keep breaking all the rules and surpassing my expectations,” he grins down at her, all too-sharp teeth and glittering eyes. “You’re just so full of surprises, it’s quite exhilarating”.

He lifts her back up and the dance continues, but he’s holding her _closer_ than before. She feels the hand on her waist creep slowly up her back to behind her shoulder blades, and her breath sticks in her throat like glue.

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean,” she manages to say, nearly forcing the words to pass her lips.

He swings her, and she soars into the air. When he catches her again, he tuts. “You’re a bad liar, Seudag. Do not tell me you did not feel the rush, the _power,_ of surpassing your meagre status?”

A shiver goes down her spine - freezing, like a glacial stream running down a mountain - when he leans down to whisper in her ear: _“Did it not feel good to act like the Lady you could truly be?”_

Outwardly her face goes blank and all motion still.

On the inside, however, something cracks and she hears her inner voice very calmly say: _“Okay, that’s enough. Get him off of you”._

She pushes against his chest, expecting the arms around her to tighten. But for reasons she cannot fathom, he unwinds his arms and steps back, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

She breathes.

“I am no Lady”.

“Not yet”.

“So you say”.

“Because it’s the truth,” he tilts his head, gazes upon her. _Looks_ at her. “Are you not happy?”

She tries to make herself appear bigger, tries to draw on _something_ that isn’t what fell over her when dealing with the Kid, but in the end she lowers her eyes and almost hisses: “Why would I be happy about being a Lady?”

“You would be powerful. Influential. You would be surpassing what little status your bloodline has held for aeons. Is that not something anyone - Else or Other - would rejoice at?”

His voice is near deceptively calm and confused, and the worst part is that she knows he’s speaking the truth. From his perspective there is nothing undesirable in it for her to… to become one of _Them._ To _become,_ to be something _more,_ something beyond what she could ever imagine.

To truly be something Else, with all that that entails.

_(She’s scared that a part of her - a part, hidden away really deep down in her soul - cannot see why that would be so wrong, either)._

“What if I don’t desire that? What if I just want to blend in with the Humans? What if I just want an ordinary life like everybody else?”

Her voice trembles as she speaks the words, and she can taste the could-be-lie on the tip of her tongue, sour and pungent and leaving her mouth as dry as if she’d swallowed cotton.

She hates it. Wishes she could speak confidently and without hesitation. Wishes that the idea of herself as a Lady scares her more than it does (that it feels less like something clicking into place).

There’s a strange look in his eyes, and she expects him to call her out for the barely hidden insecurity in her voice.

But no. He just looks at her quietly, with those unreadable eyes. One a near perfect icy blue, the other green as fresh leaves. Eyes she finds herself unable to look away from.

And then… then there’s a snap, and suddenly there’s a crystal in his right hand. A mesmerizing, shimmering sphere that dances across his fingers.

(A perfect replica of the one back in her home, hidden away in an iron box, on the tallest shelf so that she might try to forget about it.)

She finds herself drawn to it, caught up by the way it dances and spins around his hand oh so effortlessly, even as he keeps his eyes on her.

“I wonder… did you ever look into the crystal I gifted you the day we first met, Seudag?”

It takes an incredible amount of effort for her to turn her attention from the crystal and back to Foxglove, and even then it’s split between him and that glittering sphere. “I have not”.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Whyever not?”

Why not indeed? She’s thought about that many times herself.

Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s accepting this weird relationship she’s building with him if she does?

Could it be because she’s already well on her way to achieving her dreams and doesn’t feel the need to look?

What if it’s because she just doesn’t want to know them?

Because she’s afraid that all she’s got are just illusions of dreams and wants based on what she thinks a normal human would want?

Because she’s afraid she doesn’t have any?

Or is it actually because she’s afraid of what she might dream of - might wish for - deep in her subconscious?

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter as such… in the end,” he finally blinks and looks away from her. The crystal continues to move flawlessly over and between his hands, until it finally balances on the tip of his finger, perfectly still like a star taken from the sky. “But I would offer the suggestion that you do… soon, Seudag”.

She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “And if I don’t?”

There’s no trace of mirth or good humor when he glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Then I’ll force you to”.

_A threat._

With a sharp pop and a ringing - like glass struck with a hammer - the crystal appears in her hands. He bows to her in a mockery of respect.

“In seven nights - when Autumn turns to Winter and we welcome the change of Courts - there will be a revel,” he tilts his head up ever so slightly to look at her with that blasted, pleased smirk back on his face. “I trust you remember our agreed upon arrangement?”

She grits her teeth. “I will accompany you to the Winter revels”.

(She hates him. _Oh,_ how she _hates_ him.)

“Very well. Then we shall soon see each other again, my dear”.

The smug satisfaction rolls off of him in waves, and as he straightens and turns on his heel, she knows he has gotten exactly what he wanted out of her this night.

Just like that she is alone on the ice again. Her, the thundering silence, the smothering midnight sky above her… and the accursed crystal in her hands.

She looks at it. Runs a trembling finger over its smooth surface.

* * *

Raye blinks and the dream shatters around her, and she finds herself curled up on her side, blankets tucked tightly around her sides.

(She usually sleeps in a sprawl of limbs and sheets. Not tucked in like this…)

She blinks blearily, reaching out for her phone to check the time. It isn’t until the light of the screen catches on something that she knows wasn’t on her nightstand before that she fully wakes up.

The crystal sits upon a pillow of black velvet, shining faintly.

Mocking her.

_Taunting her._

**_Tempting her._ **

She can still recall his words.

_“If you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams”._

When she moves to sit up in bed, she tells herself she’s not afraid.

Refuses to be afraid. What a silly notion to be afraid of her own dreams. No, she’s just apprehensive about Foxglove’s threat. Nothing more.

Still her hands are trembling when she reaches with both hands to grab it, not trusting herself not to drop it and apprehensive about what would happen if she did.

She wraps her blankets around her body. Doesn’t turn on the lights, it seems almost inappropriate to do so.

She takes a deep breath. Looks down.

The crystal turns smoothly in her hands.

There’s a light from within it as images slowly form.

_Her dreams…_

.

.

.

.

no…….

_No…………!_

**_“NO!”_ **

A crash follows the anguished scream as the crystal shatters against the floor when she throws it.

Nothing happens. It will be whole and back on its pillow come the morning, as she will discover.

But for now she falls back into her pillows and blankets and hugs herself close, crying herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Times are changing along with the seasons. And so we move into the second act of the story. 
> 
> (....that said, can you guys believe I actually thought this would be three chapters long, when I first started writing it? It was supposed to be a simple, quick project. But the plot just kept growing and evolving, and now here I am posting chapter 10 😅.)
> 
> Happy New Years, everyone! I hope you all had a happy holiday season and went into 2021 safe and sound. I spent it as usual: eating way too much and relaxing with my sister, parents, and cat.
> 
> As for the chapter itself, I once again don't have much to say about this it, except it's another one that's been a long time coming. At the same time it's a set-up for later events that are fast approaching, which is why I want to call it the end of act 1, if you will. Safe to say, Raye is in more and more trouble and she's beginning to realize just how deep this rabbit hole goes. 
> 
> Something I do want to make note of is that more of you appear to have noticed my Labyrinth references. To that all I want to say is: YES, GOOD. There's a _point_ to my references in terms of the plot, and I actually thought I was rather obvious about (some of) them beyond directly quoting the movie. Honestly, everytime someone catches on to them, I just sit here with the biggest grin on my face. So by all means, keep looking for references and make your theories, it's exactly what I want.
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for the comments and kudos - they mean the world to me! And as a reminder, feel free to come ask me questions on my Tumblr @nordictwin if you've got any, I'd love to answer them.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Unwanted Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are a funny thing. Always subject to change, and not always something we can predict or want.
> 
> In which Raye finds herself faced with the unpleasant realization that what she thinks she wants isn't the same as what she actually wants, and that her chances for happiness amongst humans is dwindling day by day.
> 
> Good think Pearls is there to offer comfort and support.

_Paddles: Hey._

_Paddles: I need you to come over._

_Penguin: What happened?_

_Paddles: Too much._

_Paddles: Please just_

_Paddles: I don’t want to be alone right now._

_Penguin: Be there in 15. Should I bring anything? Breakfast?_

_Paddles: No._

_Paddles: I don’t think I can eat anything._

_Penguin: Okay. See you soon._

* * *

Pearls arrives bearing an appropriately titled “finals-size” mug of rose tea from the campus coffee shop, a box of honey scones, and a jar of Hilda’s homemade cherry jam.

Raye is too exhausted to protest the generosity and allows herself to be babied, setting up base in her armchair wrapped in all the blankets she owns.

The crystal sits on the pillow by her bed, glowing ever so faintly from within. It’s just barely out of sight, yet its presence weighs heavy upon the room. Even when Pearls draws back the curtains and opens the window to a bright, but bitterly cold, late-autumn morning it feels as if the room is submerged in eternal twilight.

Pearls eyes it from her spot at the small dinner table. That familiar sight - her roommate at the table, preparing tea, having breakfast - is enough to ground her to the point where she can speak.

“He came to my dreams again”.

“Your current state of body and mind and that thing,” she gestures towards the crystal with her mug “sitting out has me thinking it was a bit more than that, Paddles”.

She lifts her own mug and takes a tentative sip, though every part of her body protests the action, and she’s unsure if she’ll have the energy and strength to eat anything substantial today.

(And if she does, will it even taste like food, or will it crumble like dust upon her tongue?)

“We spent most of the time dancing, but then he started back on his whole thing about me becoming - me being - a Lady. Like it’s a good thing. And then…” she swallows, tries to unlodge the words stuck at the back of her throat “then he started asking me about that damn crystal and threatened that if I didn’t look into it of my own free will soon, then he would force me to”.

The silence between them is thick enough that she thinks it’s almost a tangible thing she could grasp and touch, were she to reach out in front of her.

Pearls hums and slouches over the table, supporting her head with her fists. “So you looked?”

She nods.

“What’d you see?”

What did she see…?

“Ever since I was a small girl, I’ve longed for the ordinary lives I saw around me,” the words come out slowly - like honey stuck on her tongue and lips - in a way they haven’t for years, in a rasp that feels both young and ancient. “I wanted to swim, to not worry about lies and trickery, to be _ordinary._ I thought… I thought this place could somehow help me bridge that gap by giving me both sides of my heritage. Maybe even make me more Human”.

She sighs, shoulders sinking forwards over her mug.

“I don’t know what I thought”.

Pearls hums - a low, rumbling sound, reminiscent of a growl - breathing in the steam from the tea. “You’re not the first one of us Human Adjacent beings to feel like that”.

Raye knows that well - it had been the first thing she had bonded with Hilda over. Sharing stories and experiences of growing up as Adjacent surrounded by Humanity and finding themselves somehow lacking, for all that they were more.

(Hilda’s is a tale of sorrow and great tragedy. Of a Hunt taken too far, of a community razed, of a young uncle taking his only niece and fleeing into Human Society, and of that niece growing to despise the upper echelons of the Gentry and longing to fit in with the Humans she was raised amongst).

She glances at the crystal. Pearls’ follows the movement and eyes it cautiously.

“Even so… I might be the only one who has had it thrown in their face that those dreams have changed”.

It’s not that she hadn’t been aware that her priorities and wants might have… _shifted._ Just a bit.

_It’s just that she’s gotten so good at lying to herself about it that she’s kind of lost the grip on what is and isn’t a lie._

“What I saw… it changed a lot. Constantly switching locations and things I did”.

_A young lady. Small of stature, but her head held high. The gown she wears is crystal blue with sleeves and skirts that fall around her like billowing smoke. Black tulle and embroidery like creeping vines up her torso. The mask she wears is like a spiderweb over her face. She is at the centre of the ballroom and all the attention is on her. The man at her side has his cape wrapped around her shoulder._

_The figure flies across the frozen lake, blades made of moonlight strapped to her feet. She spins, she kicks, she leaps. A ribbon of green trails behind her - she is the aurora, ethereal and divine, a dream breathed to life, filling any who sees her with awe. Her lone audience watches her from nowhere. This place is hers - his courting gift to her - and though the land is his, SHE reigns supreme here._

_She looks upon the figure kneeling in the middle of the floor, her breath and demeanor deceptively calm for all that her heart is racing. It is the first time she has seen someone come this far without meddling. He sits leaned back in the throne, one leg thrown carelessly over the other. The soft pink of her gown clashes horribly with the midnight black of his armor, but the triumphant smirk upon his face is slowly getting a companion on her own. The teenager_ **_\- the child -_ ** _begs for mercy, for compassion. They didn’t mean it, didn’t mean to do it, they were just so frustrated… but a wish is a wish and a wager lost cannot be changed. The babe is sent to a waiting family, the child returned home alone to a world where only they will remember their sin. He reaches upon to touch the hand she lays upon his shoulder and turns his head to press a kiss against her knuckles._

**_The baby in her arms sleeps so peacefully. He is but a few hours old, and she is so very tired still, but she has never felt such strong love before and she knows that in time he will be just as powerful as his fa-_ **

“That’s when I threw the crystal and had a breakdown”.

Pearls sits there quietly as she lets the information settle. Raye just tries to get her breathing under control.

“What about the things you saw terrified you so much?”

“Pardon?”

“Look at you,” she says, shaking her head ever so gently. “Shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Yet… what you’ve just described doesn’t really speak of anything all that frightening. In terms of the Higher Gentry… that almost seemed _normal_ to me”.

Raye snorts. “Becoming a Lady against my will seems normal to you?”

“Is it completely against your will, though?”

And therein lies the root of the problem. That pesky little voice of doubt, the perpetual thorn in her side digging further and further in, and no matter how hard she tries to ignore it, it won’t disappear.

Of course it won’t.

So… she laughs. Helplessly, hysterically, completely at her wits end at what she has been forced to realize, and she doesn’t know if she’s happy she looked on her own or angry that she didn’t just let Foxglove force her. Just so that she could blame him for doing this to her.

“No. No, it’s not. What terrifies me is actually how _little_ I’m realizing this bothers me”.

Her voice is hoarse and broken - a fragment of what she is used to - but she can’t get herself to care.

Pearls rises from her seat and goes to her side, sitting on the armrest of her chair. Her arms wrapping around her shoulders are soft and comforting and they smell like the sea.

“You know… it’s okay to want something more than what the University can give you”.

Her body jerks with a hiccup as she tries to stop herself from breaking into tears again. “I thought- I thought you were against all of this”.

“I’ll admit I have my apprehensions still,” a soft sleeve dabs against her eyes, catching the wetness there. “But more than anything, I want you to be _happy._ And Raye… you’re not happy. Not anymore”.

“And you think I’d be happier as the _plaything_ of some Lord?”

“I think you’d be happier _Underhill_ ,” Pearls taps her nose gently. “I don’t approve of this Lord Foxglove’s methods, but… would you rather be taken in by Winter?”

Raye shudders rather violently at that thought. “Perish the thought”.

They’re both quiet for a bit, until her breathing gets under control and the tears slow to something manageable, then stop altogether.

“What am I going to do?” She whispers, abandoning her tea and scones in favor of hugging her knees close. “He’s on the Hunt. I feel his eyes everywhere, and I can _hear_ his little minions following me, even if I’ve never seen them”.

“I cannot answer that, unfortunately,” Pearls rises, taking the plate and cup with her, taking them to the sink for her. “Persevere, think out of the box, or use those eyes of yours to Look for a new solution if you must. You got a freshman away from a Lady - if anyone can get out of this bind, it’s you”.

For a while longer it’s silent again, save for the quiet humming and soft noises of cheap china and cutlery being washed. Raye takes the time to let herself breathe and think, now that the panic isn’t washing over her like a tidal wave.

Unfortunately, it just relocates to form a pit in the middle of her stomach, and suddenly it feels like she is staring her answer right in the eye, only she doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

Because no. There’s no way.

Of course not.

_And yet…_

A choked whine escapes her. Pearls looks up at her, but says nothing. Waiting for her to speak.

“It’s nothing,” she says, though the way the words clump up on her tongue. “I’m just being unnecessarily paranoid”.

“There is no such thing as unnecessarily paranoid at Elsewhere,” Pearls - the sane one of them - counters. 

“No, it has to be that. It has to. If- if I am _right_ about this,” (and oh, does she not want to be) “then I don’t know who I am anymore, what I’d _do._ It has to just be paranoia, _it has to_ ”.

She says it like she wants to will it into being the truth, but that heavy pit sitting deep inside her tells her that to try so is futile.

She fears it will be like this until the day she finally hears the truth.

Pearls doesn’t prod, though Raye knows she wants to. But it has been an emotional morning, and she is already sick with exhaustion and fear and unwanted realizations.

Instead she helps her back into bed, presses a kiss to her forehead, and sets up shop with her books, notes, and an embroidery project for when she needs a break.

She dozes off to the sound of her friend rummaging around her home with a lone sunbeam bathing her face in gentle warmth, and the smell of fallen leaves and approaching winter coming in through the open window.

_And in her dreams she stands before a window looking over an endless labyrinth, a dark-haired baby cradled to her chest._

**_And in the dream, she knows she is Home._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, and welcome back to a chapter that _did not_ want to be written, even though it very much needed to be. Seriously, it was like pushing a boulder up-hill at times - that's why it's also rather short.
> 
> Pearls is a good friend who's here to support Raye in her time of need, but also to say the things Raye might not want to hear, even if she desperately needs to. It's okay, she'll spoil her rotten later - it didn't really fit in with the flow, but Pearls also went out and got them both lunch and dinner throughout the day, because making someone a good meal is my favorite kind of love-language, damn it!
> 
> Anyways, this is very much the calm before the storm. The next few chapters are going to be taking a turn for something a little darker, though we're also moving in the part of the story that I've been looking the most forward to to writing. Get your hearts ready, because you're in for a ride. It's going to be as painful for me to write as it'll be to read.
> 
> As always, thanks for all the lovely comments! They seriously do make my day, and I love talking with all of you. I love this community ❤
> 
> Thanks for reading, and see you guys next time!

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly an introduction chapter. More action to follow in later chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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